


Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

by Gemma_Rose



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 94,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Rose/pseuds/Gemma_Rose
Summary: A second series inspired by the women in the Sanditon Sisterhood - in which the female characters find their voice, their strength, their power.Sidney Parker has disappeared. As torrential rain floods the streets of Sanditon, search parties are released to comb the town, the coves and beyond, and as Mary Parker awaits further news at home, she begins to reflect upon the events of the summer that led to this.Charlotte Heywood has returned home to Willingden and very nearly resigned herself to the daily toils of pastoral life, but when an unexpected letter arrives, she must decide whether she is ready to begin anew.Set both in Sanditon and London, this is a story of what might have happened next.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker, Lord Babington/Esther Denham
Comments: 633
Kudos: 638





	1. Chapter 1

It was evening, and the sky loomed low and forbidding over Sanditon. Torrential rain had swept through the town that day, bouncing up from the streets, pinging from rooftops with what seemed to be an unprecedented ferocity that flooded the town within hours and yet, even now, the clouds remained dark and ominous. The front door of Trafalgar House burst open, a gale-like force whirled through the entryway sending pictures askew and papers swirling. Tom Parker stamped his feet as he walked across the threshold, holding his tophat in place against the wind, his cape billowing behind like a sail.

“Any sign of him?” Mary asked with urgency, her eyes searching Tom’s expression, knowing his answer before it was spoken.

He shook his head, distress upon every inch of his countenance as he removed his hat, eyes downcast as he held it in his hands, “No.”

Mary covered her mouth with her hand. Her entire body trembled as she turned away from Tom, shifting direction to prevent her mind from reeling, to regain control. “Tell me, h-how far did the men travel?” she asked, at last, wiping at her eyes.

“All through the town,” his voice faltered, “the gambling halls, as far out as the cove.”

“But not beyond?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I am not certain, but I believe he may have ridden that way earlier. Charlotte’s carriage travelled in that direction, you see. Perhaps he met her along the road.” She began to wring her hands.

“Why on earth would he do such a thing? He and Charlotte were merely acquaintances.” His tone was sharp, disbelieving, his words amplified in Mary's ears.

“Please, Tom,” she beseeched, grabbing his coat by the lapels, “send the men out to the clifftops. I-I fear he may have gone, that he was not in a state-” she stopped abruptly, overcome by the thoughts flooding her mind, her expression crumpling with the weight of them.

Tom wrapped his arms around her, “It’s all right, my dear. I shall go myself to fetch Young Stringer. We will find him. We must.”

\----------

Mary stood by the front window of Trafalgar House for several hours that night, waiting, watching as the flooding in the streets gradually rose, a near-constant stream of water cascading down the window. 

It was not a coincidence that Sidney Parker disappeared the very same day that Charlotte had left their town, possibly never to return, and if anything might have happened to him, damaged him, she was fully aware of how responsible she and Tom were for such damage. They were responsible for any future misery that awaited him.

At last, she stepped away, feeling a sudden urge to pace, and walked about the ground floor, wandering through rooms aimlessly, her mind swirling with possibilities, most of them very dire, indeed. She walked into Tom’s study, resisting an urge to overturn the table at the centre of the room that held the model of Sanditon, and instead decided to look over the post that had arrived that day. Perhaps a mundane activity would calm her mind. But as she reached for the letter at the very top of the pile, her hand paused, hovering over the stack of letters, her eyes fixed upon the script written in a strikingly elegant hand. It was addressed to Charlotte Heywood.

\----------

“Mary!!”

She started, lifting her head sharply from the writing desk at the sound of Tom’s voice. Standing before her mind could fully register the situation, she ran, stopping just outside of Tom’s study as she beheld the scene before her. 

Young Stringer and Fred carried an unconscious Sidney across the threshold of Trafalgar House, his arms draped around their shoulders, his feet dragging along the floor behind them, and in an instant, Mary’s world began to shrink in on itself as they cleared a table and laid his still form upon it. Tom mouthed the words, “Dr Fuchs”, but she could no longer hear them as her surroundings swirled and shifted. She set her hands upon the table to remain upright, her fingertips grazing his overcoat as she breathed deeply, steadily to regain control.

“Mrs Parker,” Stringer placed a hand upon her shoulder, “Mrs Parker, are you all right?”

He lifted a chair from the corner and brought it to her, positioning it nearer the table. “One hand at a time, now.” He guided her from the table, his hands beneath her elbows. “Mr Parker will be back with the doctor soon. He will know what to do.” 

She nodded, unable to wrench her eyes away from her brother-in-law, a man who had been the picture of happiness mere weeks prior to this. _What had they done?_

“He is here!” Tom shouted from the entrance hall.

“Where is the patient?” Dr Fuchs asked with urgency, bounding into the room, a trail of water falling from his overcoat as he removed his hat and walked purposefully toward them, throwing his bag aside and removing his coat with practised efficiency. He leaned over the table, opening one eyelid and then the next, checking his neck for a pulse. “He is alive,” he announced to the room, which had grown deadly quiet. He moved aside Sidney’s overcoat, first on one side and then the other. “Yes, he is, but ah, he has had a fallen.”

“Gentlemen, provide me with some assistance in removing this coat.” Stringer and Fred stepped forward, Fred lifting Sidney just enough for Stringer to slide the coat from his arms and pull it out from beneath.

“We found ‘im, Sir.” said Stringer, “halfway down a cliffside, just as you see ‘im now.”

“Yes,” he said, his fingers pressing along Sidney’s arms, his collarbone and chest. As he pressed down upon his sternum, Sidney gasped suddenly, both eyes opened wide. “The ribs, they are broken.” 

Mary rushed to the table, taking his hand. “Sidney, can you hear me?”

He exhaled slowly, as if he were in a great deal of pain, and then croaked, answering in puffs of air, “What...happened.”

“Sidney, you have been injured. Dr Fuchs is checking on you now.” 

“Bloody horse,” he said in a barely audible whisper, before fading off again, eyes closing, head lolling to the side.

Mary turned her head toward Tom, who remained standing behind her, hat in hand. “Was there a horse?”

“N-no, it must have run off,” said Tom, “Dr Fuchs, was he thrown?”

“I think it very likely he was. Fractured ribs, three. Oh? Four. And oh my, this will take a time to heal.”

“What is it?” Mary asked.

Dr Fuchs unbuttoned Sidney’s waistcoat. “Some assistance, please,” he beckoned impatiently, and the men stepped in to lift his body as Dr Fuchs peeled away the black waistcoat. “Careful, careful,” he urged as they lowered him slowly back to the table. 

As the men moved away from the table, Mary noticed the blood instantly, stained crimson and black at the centre, brown at the edges along his side, the punctured linen of his shirt sticking to the wound beneath as if it were part of his body. Dr Fuchs began to cut away the shirt, leaving only the piece of fabric over the wound. "Something has punctured through. I did not notice with the overcoat, but the waistcoat, it is very torn. Yes, we will need hot water and clean cloths."

Mary called for Morgan, her voice sounding faint as she instructed him to bring supplies. Her legs felt wobbly as she turned back to the table. Stringer noticed immediately and before she could take another step forward, he was at her side, guiding her back to the chair. 

Dr Fuchs prepared his surgery, pulling a medicine box from his bag, opening compartments to reveal rows upon rows of vials, occasionally holding them up to the light. "I must use a special solution to clean the wound. Ah," he said, flicking at a vial, "this will do very well." As Morgan brought in a tray of hot water and cloths, Dr Fuchs emerged from his bag once more with what appeared to be yet more cloth, which he proceeded to expertly unroll upon the table behind him in one swift motion, revealing several metal instruments. 

Sitting on a stool next to the table, Dr Fuchs flushed the wound with hot water, slowly dabbing along the linen's edges, working inward with various instruments to gradually loosen the fabric. “Mein Gott.” he murmured, continuing to dab at the linen, his head all but disappearing on the other side of the table as he worked, a hand emerging every so often for a new tool or cloth, and finally, the solution itself to clean the newly revealed gash. “The wound is very deep, I fear. It will need stitching, yes. Much stitching for proper healing.”

A _thump_ behind them caught Mary's attention and she realised that Tom was no longer standing, but had collapsed into the chair behind him, turning very pale. As she watched his eyes roll back into his head, a flurry of emotions flitted through her mind - anger and fear were at the forefront, it was true, but they were quickly overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of determination. She garnered her own strength and felt her legs steady beneath her as she stepped back to the table. “Dr Fuchs, please, how may I be of assistance?”

“Ah, Frau Parker, he is not conscious now, but he may be very soon once I begin my work, so brace the arm, away from the table. We do not want to add more pressure to the chest just now.” 

“All right,” she nodded, and Stringer and Fred proceeded to brace Sidney’s shoulders as Dr Fuchs threaded a needle. 

“Ready now?” he asked, passing over the wound once more with his cloth.

Mary looked to the two men at her side, and glanced quickly at Tom, limp in his chair. She turned back to Dr Fuchs. “Ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t until the following day that the news reached the rest of the Parker family, Tom having written to them as soon as he awoke from his fainting spell, and Mary was sorely displeased to hear the voices of Arthur and Diana burst through the front door of Trafalgar House not a day later, frantic and shrill as ever, as they demanded to see their brother.

Mary, sitting at what had become her usual place at his bedside, touched Sidney’s unconscious shoulder briefly and stood, with a mind to stave them off. 

“Oh, Mary, it cannot be true!” Diana’s wailing carried down the hall just as Mary latched the door behind her. “We received the most alarming letter by courier. Please, tell us that we haven’t arrived too late.” 

“Sister,” Arthur looked alarmed, his eyes twice their usual size, “is he...dead?” he finished in a whisper.

Mary closed her eyes, and shook her head as if to awaken her senses to their overstimulating presence. “Please, keep your voices down. He needs his rest if he is to survive this. He is alive, but only just, and I intend to keep him from getting any worse if it is the last thing I do on this earth.” she spouted, finishing rather more harshly than she meant to.

“Oh, sister,” said Arthur, softening, “thank goodness he is alive. Please, we must see him. I would never forgive myself if-” he cut off, raising a hand to his chest as if to catch his breath.

“You may, but you must not speak in more than a whisper, is that clear? We are under the strictest of orders from Dr Fuchs not to disturb him in any way. Do not move him, do _not_ touch him, you may only sit with him.” Mary looked at them both with a stern expression she often used with the children.

They nodded in tandem, slightly shocked at her reaction, and she opened the door to allow them in. “As a matter of fact, it is time to redress the wound, and I must fetch more bandages. Leave him be until I return. I beg of you.” she said and left, silently praying that they would follow her orders.

She found that her legs were very stiff after sitting at his bedside for hours on end, and she was somewhat thankful for the respite, however brief it might be. Over the past few hours, however, a feeling of unease had begun to bloom in her chest, catching her at odd moments and she found she was quite unable to breathe, for Sidney had not awakened since his operation. They had summoned Dr Fuchs twice since, and he merely said that they must wait, that he would rouse when his body was ready, and not before. 

Mary felt tears upon her cheeks once again, and wiped them away quickly, sniffing back a sob. If only Charlotte were here. If only she hadn’t left at all. If only Tom hadn’t been such a fool. And yet, it had all led to this. 

“Where is he?! You must tell me where he is!” Mary heard the unmistakable voice of Georgiana in the hallway on her way back toward the staircase. 

“Georgiana?” she walked up to the frantic-looking girl, and as she approached, she noticed the undeniable fear in her eyes. “Ah, I see you have heard the news?”

She stilled. “So...it’s true?” she asked, tears landing upon her cheeks. “It is all over town. I heard it from the blasted Beaufort sisters this morning.”

“Yes, it’s true. I am so sorry, Georgiana,” she said, guilt coursing through her body. “It is so important that he rest. We had planned to tell you very soon, but the fact is, he has yet to wake.”

“Tell me...was he thrown from his horse?” she asked. “That is what I heard this morning.”

Mary nodded. “Come along, dear,” she said wrapping an arm around Georgiana’s shoulders, “I will take you to him. As a matter of fact, Arthur and Diana burst in just moments before you arrived, and are watching him while I retrieve some fresh bandages.”

Georgiana swallowed, her expression uneasy, “Mary. How bad is it?”

“We must have hope that he will make it through this. He is so very strong-” Mary froze, and Georgiana stopped instinctually behind her. The pronounced sound of whooping wafted down to them from the floor above. Mary’s breath hitched in her throat and the world around her swirled once more as she picked up her skirts and travelled at a breakneck pace to Sidney’s room, Georgiana behind her. 

“Sister!” Arthur cried, joyously, his face stained with tears, “Georgiana! Come, come, he has awakened at last!”

Mary all but threw the basket of bandages into the chair beside her and kneeled upon the floor, reaching a hand to his forehead as if he were her own child. “Don’t move, Sidney. Please, you mustn't move.”

He blinked up at her, his breathing as shallow as ever. “Water,” she instructed, and Georgiana rushed to the table across the room where a partially filled glass remained on a platter. Mary tilted the glass up to his lips, her hands trembling.

“Brother, you have had a fall,” Diana said, waving a fan at him from the foot of the bed, as if he had merely fainted. 

“A great fall, indeed,” Arthur added, dramatically.

“Sidney, can you hear me?” Mary asked, stroking his forehead as she passed the glass off to Arthur with her free hand. Georgiana stepped to his other side, kneeling next to the bed. “Sidney, we are here,” she called. 

He nodded, appearing confused, and finally croaked, “Where am I?”

"Trafalgar House, dear,” said Mary, “you were thrown-” she inhaled sharply, unable to prevent a sob from breaking through, “from your horse.” 

Sidney moved his hand, reaching for hers. “How long?” His breathing increased, shallow and swift.

“Two days. It has been two days,” she said, tears falling freely down her face as she held his hand in her own.

His expression became vacant as he stared at the ceiling above him, inhaling increasing bursts of air, his eyes searching, attempting to retrieve something that was not yet within reach.

As Mary, Georgiana, Arthur and Diana looked on in silence, they instinctively moved closer, surrounding him as they witnessed the last memories from that day on the clifftops flood into his mind, overtaking him for the briefest of moments and releasing through his open mouth in a single exhale. They watched in silence as a teardrop fell, sliding downward from eye to temple to ear, and disappeared as if the last sign of life had drained from his body, never to return.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Frau Parker, I might have a word?”_

_“Yes, of course, Dr Fuchs.”_

_“The patient, he is struggling. I have tried a new poultice today. We will see if the wound improves, but his mood, Frau Parker, it is very grim.”_

_“Tell me, is there nothing else that we could try?”_

_“I have been practising many years, Frau Parker. I see it often enough. Those tending to the patient may only do so much to heal. The rest will be up to der junger Herr Parker. If he does not want to heal, he will not recover. It is as simple as that.”_

_“Please, you must have a suggestion. Something that we could try.”_

_“My suggestion, Frau Parker, is to give him something to live for.”_

\----------

  
  


Georgiana emerged from Sidney’s room for the fourth time that week, frustrated and weary.

“Still nothing, then?” Mary asked eagerly.

“Nothing, not even a sound. It’s like he’s an empty shell.”

“Yes, I was afraid of that.”

“What do you think happened to him? I have wondered...do you...could it be Charlotte?”

Mary sighed, resignedly, “I have spent so much time considering what it might be, and Charlotte is the only thing that makes any sense in this world.”

“I don’t understand,” Georgiana shook her head, “it was all going so well, and yet, he was the one to hurt her. What happened to make him turn to Mrs Campion, who, by the way, is quite positively the vilest woman I’ve ever met, and abandon Charlotte so suddenly? He was besotted at the Midsummer Ball, and she as well.”

“Come, dear, I believe that I have a few matters to explain.” She called on Morgan to order tea and as they sat, both stirring milk and sugar into their cups absently, Mary began to tell Georgiana the truth, or what she knew of it. 

“Are you joking?” Georgiana spouted, “you have to be joking.”

“I’m afraid not, dear,” Mary said, hesitantly, awaiting the outburst that was likely to come.

“Marrying a woman he does not love as a last resort when his ward could more than pay the debts in full. Sidney Parker, you fool.”

“He would never ask such a thing of you, Georgiana; that inheritance is yours and no one else’s.”

“I could have bought him time, at the very least. Loaned your family the money with interest. Invested in this town.”

“But you despise this town. Why would you ever want to tie yourself to it?”

“If it is a matter of having Sidney whole, even if he’s infuriating, or having a man who can’t even manage to speak? I would give every penny of my inheritance to fix it.” She spoke with such passionate determination that Mary was taken aback for a moment.

“Forgive me, Georgiana, I suppose I never realised that you cared about him so.”

“He is the only family I have left. Of course, I care about him -- even if I spend most of my time despising him.”

“Then, I suppose that his actions could prove just how much he cares about you as well. He does, you know, even if he doesn’t quite know how to express it.”

“Well, if I am not allowed to help, what else might we do?”

“That, my dear, is the very question we must examine, and find an answer to soon if anything is to be done.”

“To prevent the marriage, you mean?”

“Prevent his marriage, wake him out of this despondent stupor he is in, and-” she cut off suddenly, faltering briefly before squaring her shoulders determinedly, “and to save this town.”

Georgiana looked at her quizzically. “Mary, I don’t mean to sound at all rude, but it seems very unlike you to go about a scheme like this.”

“I have remained dormant far longer than I should have, Georgiana. Call it a reawakening, a change of heart, I cannot go back to having no voice in this family when I believe so strongly that I am the only Parker left with enough sense to solve this.”

“Well, as an honorary Parker, perhaps I may be of some help to you. Please, let me know what I can do. This sounds far more useful than whatever useless lessons Mrs Griffiths has planned for us.” 

Mary couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Georgiana, I will be glad of the help and the company, and in time, I will reveal all to you, but there is much to be planned yet, and much else that could fail before we even begin.”

“Oh, this just got far more interesting.”

  
  
\----------

Later that day, after Georgiana departed, Mary made her way up to Sidney’s room to check on him, a renewed sense of resolve stirring within her. She opened the door quietly, met with a roaring fire that had heated the room until it was beyond the point of sweltering. She walked over and tugged at the window until she was able to slide it, rather forcibly, open. She lingered at the windowsill, leaning out to breathe in the fresh air as if she hadn’t breathed in days, and realised for the first time that she hadn’t been outdoors since the day Sidney was found, nearly two weeks earlier.

She hadn’t the slightest clue what might have occurred on the clifftops to lead to such an injury, and a part of her dreaded even knowing what had happened. But if she was truly honest, she dreaded even more that she would not know how to fix it. And yet, she thought, now was as good a time as any to try. 

She spun around to face Sidney’s recumbent form, and moved determinedly toward him, kneeling beside the bed. “Sidney, I know that you can hear me,” she said quietly. He continued to stare vacantly at the ceiling, breathing shallow breaths in and out. She took his hand, turning his face toward hers, his eyes open and expressionless, “and you need to know that you can trust me.”

He gave a slight nod, and her heart felt as if it might burst in triumph. “This conversation will remain between us, do you understand?” Another nod, more noticeable this time. 

“I need you to tell me what happened the day you were found.” She saw that his expression was troubled, despondent. His eyes searched hers and then she felt his grip tighten around her hand. 

“You followed her, didn’t you.” His chin trembled in response, “It’s okay, dear, it’s going to be all right.” she said as her hands reached to brush the hair from his forehead, hoping to comfort him in some small way. She sat with him, soothing him like a child as he worked to restore his breathing.

“I followed her,” he whispered at last, and Mary breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, though it was barely audible. She swallowed back a sob and said softly, “Go on. Tell me what happened.” 

He shifted his gaze to the ceiling, his breathing growing rapid and irregular. 

“I caught up with the carriage on the clifftops, and I knew,” he said, his face crumpling, tears sliding down to the pillow beneath, “I knew by the end of it, when she left.”

“It’s all right, dear. It’s going to be all right,” she repeated softly, attempting to decipher his broken thoughts.

He moved a hand to his ribs, trying to contain his erratic breathing with little success. “I watched the carriage drive off, watched how upset she was, just as much as I, and I knew that I had to-" he broke off suddenly, his expression pained as he breathed in, then out, trembling, "-that I couldn't let her go.” 

Mary hesitated, her suspicions coming to fruition before her eyes, but this she had not expected. “And you went after the carriage again, to try to make amends?”

His eyes welled over once more, and Mary understood, the realisation dawning in her mind, a wave of sorrow coursing through her body for him, for the both of them. She nodded, tears falling down her own face. 

“But, I waited too long, Mary. Stood in the same place until the rain came upon me, and then-” his breath hitched in his throat, “I was quite...unable to catch her. I lost control in my haste, and now I am unable to even move from this very bed.”

Mary squeezed his hand, determination welling within her. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“In that, Mary, I fear we are both too late.”

“Nonsense,” she said, “I will not have it. Give me word, and I will write Charlotte this instant.”

He turned to her, “What difference does it make now? The facts are that I am engaged to Mrs Campion, with a marriage settlement that has been both drafted and signed, and now-” his chin trembled again, and he turned his head to look back at the ceiling, “now I must fulfil my side of the bargain.”

“And you honestly think she would not have you?”

“What would I have to offer her other than a life in the debtor’s prison? I would never put her in that situation. She deserves more than that, Mary. I am not worthy of her as I am.”

“Well then, Mr Parker, we must find another way.” Sidney looked back at her, “I will not accept that this is merely over, and you must not accept it either. It is my life on the line as well, and I have no wish to see you live yours in such a miserable state.” 

“Mary, I-”

“Enough.” she said resolutely, “You forget that I knew you then, all those years ago. And to see you emerge from such despair, to become the man you have, I refuse to see you so defeated after all this time.”

“What are you proposing?” he whispered, his expression overwhelmed as thoughts began to swirl around in his mind.

“To help you find happiness, whatever that entails, and to help you fight for that happiness because you are worthy of it. I nearly lost you, and I am not about to go through that again.”


	4. Chapter 4

Charlotte Heywood stood deep in thought before a window in the room she shared with her sister, Alison, the summer breeze wafting up to her face, the floorboards creaking slightly as she swayed with uncertainty, a letter fluttering about in her hands.

For the past two weeks, she had been at home, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, and thinking less of the life she had lived just days earlier. She had been determined to leave it in the past, at least for a time, until she did not react so acutely - had been waiting for the day when her heart did not leap into her throat at the very thought of Sanditon and the people in it, but that day had yet to come.

“Charlotte!” Her mother’s voice sounded distant as she shouted from an outbuilding, and a second, more urgent call brought her further out of her reverie.

“Yes?” she called through the window, nearly dropping the letter as another waft of air whirled into the room.

"The cow has escaped again!” came the now exasperated voice as she noticed two of her brothers running towards the particularly problematic stretch of fence that bordered one of many pastures at the Heywood estate.

“Yes, I’m coming!” She folded the letter quickly, sliding it into her apron pocket as she ran down the stairs, dreading the task ahead. Their Ayrshire had mastered escaping the pasture despite efforts to repair the fences that summer, and yet again, Daisy had bested them. Weren’t cows supposed to be dim? And yet, Daisy’s stubbornness and strength kept her rooted in place, not responding even to dogs nipping at her hind legs or the promise of food. She stood her ground, lowing in annoyance at Charlotte and her siblings’ efforts, refusing to move an inch until she decided otherwise. 

On this occasion, Daisy was safely in her stall within the hour, ready to be milked, and the Heywood siblings were able to set about their usual schedule of chores, of which they were significantly delayed in finishing. 

After yet another chaotic dinner with the Heywood children - “it’s like herding cats!” - her mother had yelled across the room over the noise, Charlotte sat quietly, no longer engaged in the conversation as she observed her mother sitting across the table for little moments before hopping up to help one of the children or to fetch something from the kitchen. 

“Mother, may I ask you something?” Charlotte asked as they did the washing up after dinner, Alison and the children having gone upstairs to begin the arduous task of preparing their youngest siblings for bed. 

“Yes, of course,” her mother said, turning away from her to fetch more of the dishes. 

“Is this the sort of life you had always envisioned? When you were younger?” she asked, her heart unexpectedly leaping into her throat.

Her mother froze mid-reach, hovering over a set of plates, “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean - have you ever wished for more than a life in the country?” she elaborated, feeling flushed and beginning to wish she hadn’t said a word.

Her mother began to move again, as if she had just calculated how many seconds had been lost and must make up the time, and it did not escape Charlotte that a slight smile had spread upon her face, almost wistful, “There was a time, I suppose, when I had dreamed for a life away from all of this, but could you honestly blame me for it?”

Charlotte smiled, “What prevented you?”

“Well, your father prevented us both from ever leaving Willingden. He never cared to have a house in the city, let alone leave the estate, and as soon as you all came along, well, there was no chance of it.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, biting her lip.

“But, my dear, I do not have any honest regret in this world, for I met your father and have had a life with him, a joyous life at that. You cannot help who you fall in love with, but if you are so fortunate as to have love in your marriage, the rest doesn’t seem to matter. To love is to sacrifice, sometimes a great deal, but I would not change it if it meant a life with your father, and you, and well, all the rest of the brood, I suppose.” she said with a wink.

“I received a letter today,” she revealed at last, “from a rather important lady with whom I formed an acquaintance over the summer”

“Oh?” asked her mother, “and who, pray, is this fine lady?”

“Lady Worcester,” she said, and a plate slipped from her mother’s grasp, crashing to the floor. 

“Oh!” she cried, reaching for a cloth to pick up the shards porcelain. “Lady Worcester, y-you said?”

“Yes, Lady Susan Worcester.” Charlotte said, kneeling down next to her mother to help. 

“Ohhhh my stars,” her mother whispered in disbelief.

“What is it? Are you acquainted with her?”

Her mother emitted a laugh before she could help it, “No, Charlotte, I am not. It is not a common occurrence for our sort to be in similar company as Lady Worcester.”

“She is very kind, and, well, she wrote to me, you see,” she said, reaching for the letter in her pocket. “She wishes for me to visit her in London, to stay as her companion, in fact, but I’m not so sure I should leave again so soon. I’ve only just arrived and what would the children think?”

“Charlotte?” her mother asked, looking over the letter, “I believe that Lady Worcester is the sort of person that one would not deign to say no to. If she asks a young lady to visit her for a time, she visits.”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, “I hadn’t realised that she was quite so, well, regal, I suppose.”

“Yes, I have heard that she is a very down to earth sort,” said her mother, “but, my dear, if you are craving more adventure, I believe that the opportunity has presented itself. Do this while you are young, because one day you might be standing exactly where I am now, and though I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, well - fond memories of a time in London could be the very thing that gets you through the day when you have a dozen children to look after.”

“I suppose that means I shall write to her.”

“Yes, I suppose you shall, and allow me to break the news to your father. He will not be pleased for you to go again so soon, but he will understand. If I have learned one thing in all the years I’ve known him, it is how to talk him ‘round.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Mary!” Tom yelled from the entrance hall at Trafalgar House. “Oh, Mary, I have such news!” he said, now hovering over her at the writing desk.

“Whatever it is, Tom, you are going to have to wait a moment until I finish this letter.” 

“Have urgent correspondence to finish, do you?” he asked, clearly of the opinion that his news was far more important than any task she may have. 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” and still, she did not look up from the page.

“Mary,” he said incredulous, “will you not even listen to what I have to say?”

“I shall, when I have finished this letter. So, if you would like me to hear whatever news you have to share, I suggest that you leave me be, as I will finish the task at hand much faster without you hovering over me.” Her tone had been matter-of-fact, but she met his gaze with such ferocity in hers that he found himself backing away. 

Some minutes later, after sending the sealed and addressed letter off with Morgan, Mary returned to Tom’s study. “All right, then, tell me what you have to say.” she began, and after the briefest moment of looking dejected, he stood up quickly as if unable to contain his excitement.

“I was very nearly beginning to worry, my dear, that something had occurred between Sidney and Eliza, but I have been in receipt of a letter written in her own hand.” Tom was nearly bounding about the room, and Mary gritted her teeth to avoid the urge to slap him. 

“And?” 

“Why, she is to visit this very week. She mentioned something about a grand event that could not be missed, but that she would be here to see her dear Sidney as soon as she was able. Now, I wonder, Mary, if I might present her with the revised terrace plans while she is here. They are very nearly complete. I could have a word with Young Stringer to join us, perhaps.” 

“Do what you must, Tom.” she said, suddenly in very low spirits, and turned to leave the room, but she was unable to prevent herself from turning back once more, “Do you not think it odd that she would attend an event when her intended is at death’s very door?” 

Tom spluttered, “Well, she is a very important woman, my dear. She must keep up appearances in London.” 

“Right.” she said, coldly. “I believe that is all the answer I need, Tom.” and she left to check on Sidney and Georgiana, her mind wandering to far more important matters at hand. There were many connections to be made. There was so much yet to be done. And now, they would have to endure a visit from the very last woman she had any wish to see.


	6. Chapter 6

Lady Worcester arrived at the Heywood estate in the grandest carriage that Charlotte had ever seen. Brightly painted in green and silver, it seemed fitting that the equally colourfully clad woman emerged from it with a smile that instantly put Charlotte’s mind at ease. 

“My dear Charlotte!” she exclaimed in her kind way, walking straight over to her, reaching for Charlotte’s hands in greeting. “Oh, how I have missed you these past weeks.”

“So happy to see you again, Lady Worcester!” she responded, not quite successful in maintaining a calm exterior, for in truth, she had missed her new friend exceedingly.

“Oh please, my dear, none of that. Call me Susan.” she waved a hand as if brushing away unnecessary formalities between friends.

“Susan, of course,” she blushed. “Come, I will introduce you to my family.”

The Heywoods had all emerged from their small manor to meet the very sophisticated lady that had come to call. Mr Heywood bowed, and Mrs Heywood curtsied, the children followed suit in the politest of manners, and Lady Susan was noticeably impressed by their efforts. 

“Please, Lady Worcester,” said Mrs Heywood, “do come in for tea.” The entire household filed back through the entry, but the rest of the Heywood children left the adults to talk to one another, undisturbed, in the library.

“My word, Mr Heywood,” Lady Susan remarked upon entering the sizable room lined with bookshelves, “this is a very impressive collection, indeed.”

Mr Heywood could not suppress his pride at the compliment. “Many thanks, Lady Worcester. I am fortunate enough to have many avid readers in this household, as well as myself and Charlotte, of course. We have devoted the largest room of the house to our great love.”

“And what a magnificent room it is,” Lady Susan remarked, looking around at the floor to ceiling shelves. Now it was Mr Heywood’s turn to blush.

“Lady Worcester,” Mrs Heywood interjected, “I must thank you for your correspondence over these past weeks. I will admit to being far more at ease about sending our Charlotte away again so soon after her time in Sanditon this summer.”

“I am grateful to hear that, Mrs Heywood.” Lady Susan answered. “I have missed my Charlotte so these past weeks. It will be an excellent opportunity for her to be introduced into London society, and I can think of no more deserving a young lady than Charlotte to be by my side in the coming months.”

“I must say,” Mr Heywood remarked, “that I was rather taken aback by your offer, Your Ladyship. We are not accustomed to meeting with members of the ton in Willingden, you see, and well, it seemed rather generous, to put it lightly.” 

“Oh, enough of all that,” Susan waved a hand dismissively, “it is not so generous an offer when you consider what I will gain. To have a friend by my side throughout the season is the truest gift imaginable to me, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that Charlotte is brought out into London society in the most respectable way, Mr Heywood.”

Looking yet unconvinced, Mr Heywood appealed to his daughter, “Charlotte? What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Charlotte wrung her hands nervously, carefully formulating her thoughts. “I have been back at home for over a month, Father, and if I am truly honest, I believe that I am ready for a change of scenery. Something new to explore. If you and Mother are able to spare me, I believe that a time spent in London might be just to my liking at present.”

“I have been watching you these past weeks, my dear,” said Mrs Heywood, “and as much as it pains me to say it, I think that you may have grown beyond what the walls of this home can offer you. I have seen you gazing out the window, resigned to your chores day after day, and I rather wonder if there is any joy left in this sort of life for you, or whether you have outgrown us at last.” She patted Charlotte’s arm.

Mr Heywood nodded, knowingly. “When Mrs Heywood puts it like that, I suppose that London might even provide an opportunity for growth.” He smiled at Charlotte, “My dear, do be careful.”

“I will ensure it, Mr Heywood. She will not be in harm’s way while she is with me.” Lady Susan chimed in, respectfully.

“I trust that she would not, Lady Worcester. Even from our short acquaintance, I can see that you care very much for our Charlotte, and we appreciate your kind invitation for what promises to be yet another great adventure for her.”

Lady Worcester smiled at this. “A new adventure, indeed!” she said, raising her teacup in the most elegant fashion.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as the carriage had taken off for London, Charlotte and Lady Susan in tow, and they had waved off the Heywood family, Charlotte shedding tears at the thought of so much distance between them once again, the carriage settled into a regular rhythm, working its way along the uneven country roads. 

It was then that Susan, after some time exchanging pleasantries and, in general, gauging the overall state of her friend’s wellbeing, decided it was time to seek out answers. 

“Charlotte, forgive me if I am being too forward with you, but I simply must find out. I do not know what has befallen you these past months, but know that the outcome was not one I could have foreseen. What could have happened to make Mr Parker change his feelings to such a degree as to engage himself to a woman he so clearly does not love?”

Charlotte’s face crumpled, at last, unable to hold the guise any longer. 

“Oh, my dear Charlotte, what you must have endured. And from what I have gathered, you haven’t told anyone about it, have you, dear.” 

Lady Susan moved to Charlotte’s side of the carriage and placed an arm around her shoulders. It was then that Charlotte told the story of what had happened during her last days in Sanditon: his near-proposal at the ball, the terrace fire that was the beginning of their ruin, and Sidney’s return to Trafalgar House when she had received the news that broke her heart as she stood before him having expected such a different conversation. The news had rendered her speechless, unable to ask him why or how this change in course had come about in the week he had been in London, though she had imagined so many scenarios since - scenarios that vilified both parties. 

“I cannot wrap my head around it, Susan. Why was she the only option he had left? If he truly loved me, why would he throw himself away like that?”

“Ah yes, to that I may have an answer, my dear. Not everyone is as skilled when it comes to considering every avenue available to them. Perhaps your Mr Parker had not the time to broaden his mind to other possibilities, other investors he may be acquainted with but had not yet called upon. Or, perhaps he was merely out of time and the stress of it all got the better of him. We cannot know that yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yet. You see, Charlotte, it is quite clear to me that the greatest mistake Mr Parker made that very week was in leaving you behind - a young woman who had just made some very influential acquaintances of her own, and dare I say, a woman with the ingenuity and intelligence to find a solution. Was not the regatta your idea?”

“Well, yes…”

“Case in point, my dear. Now, I happen to know that your Mr Parker-”

“He isn’t _my_ Mr Parker,” she interjected.

Lady Susan laughed, “Oh, yes he is, my dear. I have seen the way he looks at you, and he is most certainly _your_ Mr Parker.”

Charlotte felt a blush creep up her neck, blooming in full upon her cheeks.

“I happen to know, for your information, that your Mr Parker has not yet married, and may not for some time.”

She gave Charlotte a devious look, “For some months?” Charlotte asked, attempting nonchalance.

“Yes, it seems that there have been setbacks at every possible turn. One of the many drawbacks of planning an elaborate society wedding. It turns out that his affianced is determined to have the best of everything, and thus, the planning required and the bookings to be made will require far more time than your average country wedding, as she described it to me.” Susan’s eyes positively twinkled. 

“Now, Charlotte, I do apologise that I was not more forthright in my letters to you, but consider it my own way of proceeding with caution. I wrote to you under the assumption that you would have to share my letters with your parents, and, well, I was unsure of how much they might have known of your time in Sanditon.”

Charlotte stared at her in disbelief, wondering how, upon the briefest of acquaintances, Lady Worcester had resorted to plotting.

“You see, Charlotte,” she said, lifting her brow in the mischievous way she had, “I have come to the realisation that with your ingenuity and my connections, I may be so bold as to propose a partnership, of sorts”

“Oh, Susan, I am not certain that this is the best course…” Lady Susan raised a gloved hand at this, as if she were simply unable to bear it any longer, and spoke to her in the frankest of manners, dipping her head to meet the downcast eyes of her companion, and reached for her hands.

“Charlotte, I am about to watch one of my dearest acquaintances in the world become broken, not from unrequited love, but from renouncing her rightful place next to the man I believe she is wholly suited for. Indeed, as your friend, I cannot, I _will_ not allow you to do this to yourself. Trust me when I say that you will regret it if you do not at least try to find a way to save him from such a fate.” Susan blinked, looking away from her friend for the briefest of moments.

Charlotte swallowed, unsure if she could even speak, “But he has made his choice. What can be done to change that without bringing scandal or even ruin to either of us?”

“We find a better option for your Mr Parker, that’s what. The rest we can figure out as we go, but for now, we focus on finding a way out. We must save him from a life he does not want for himself, and to do that, we must find investors for your little town.”

“Lady Worcester, indeed, I am grateful for your forward thinking, and I know you to be a woman of great influence, but that does not change the fact that we…”

“That we what, Charlotte?” she interjected, eyebrow raised.

“Well...what influence do two women really have in this world?” she asked, exasperated.

Susan laughed, the joyous sound ringing throughout the carriage, “Oh, my dear,” she smiled, patting Charlotte’s hand, “I have so much to teach you.”

The two ladies became engrossed in discussion throughout the rest of their ride to London, arriving on schedule at Weston Place with more than just Susan’s regal presence, Charlotte following close behind, shyness creeping into her expression as she met the servants and was shown to the grandest room she had ever seen - they had arrived with the earliest workings of a plan.


	8. Chapter 8

Sidney awoke abruptly, breathing in sharply, too deeply, and felt as if his sternum would crack from the pressure. 

“Careful,” he heard Georgiana’s voice next to his ear, “Slow down, it’s okay.”

He exhaled, coughing, and winced as he draped an arm across his eyes. It had become an unexpected challenge just to adjust himself to the light streaming through the window, having slept so often in the past few weeks. 

“More nightmares, then?” Georgiana asked, and he glanced over at her, his eyes squinting to shut out the light, and nodded.

“Are you...reading?” he squinted in her direction, an expression of disbelief upon his face.

Georgiana smiled mischievously, “Yes, Mr Parker, I am. _Self Control_ by Mary Brunton. Charlotte left it behind at Mrs Griffiths' and well, I got bored sitting here with you all day.” 

“Well, seeing that I sleep approximately sixteen hours each day, I’m not surprised. Is it at least entertaining?”

“Far more than I ever would have imagined,” she said, snapping the book shut and setting it on the table next to her. 

“And you are keeping up with your studies? Has Mrs Griffiths approved of you being here?”

Georgiana rolled her eyes, “Honestly, Sidney, I could learn what Mrs Griffiths has to teach in a week. At least I am of some use here.”

"Of course you are,” he said, “you have been a fine companion to me.”

“Oh, stop. You know I cannot take this new sentimental version of you that has suddenly appeared out of thin air. I swear to God, one injury and you are mush.”

“I suppose that near-death experiences can do that to a person, but if I’m honest, I was a changed man before all that.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re ready to talk about Charlotte?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

He glanced sideways at her, drumming his fingertips absently on the blankets.

“Oh, you are useless at this. I know what happened already, so you can spare me that.”

“What? Who told-”

“Mary. Who else?”

“You two have become close then, have you.”

“Something like that, yes. We have a common interest.”

“Which is?”

“You. And Charlotte. So two common interests, I suppose.” She smiled mischievously at him.

“Any...news?” He had turned his face back to look at the ceiling again, swallowing reflexively as he awaited her answer.

“Wow, you do want to talk about Charlotte. I thought it would be at least a few more weeks before you could even say her name, but all right, let’s talk.”

“And? News?”

“She has written a letter or two, yes.”

“Really, Georgiana, I could have guessed that much myself.”

“She made it back to Willingden safely, is trying to adapt to being back at home and I don’t wish to reveal too much else, as it is my business and _not_ yours, but, suffice it to say that she is not herself. She seems...resigned to being at home rather than content, and it doesn’t seem that her family is offering any comfort. In fact, I don’t think she has revealed anything to them of what happened with you, and honestly, I cannot blame her for that. Why not at least try to start anew?”

Sidney felt a stirring in his chest, his heart beating wildly. “She is not herself,” he whispered.

“Honestly, I have not heard from her for at least a week, probably longer. Time has escaped me being in this room with you every day. So, for all I know, she has met a dashing young Lord and run off to Scotland.”

“Shush, do not toy with me,” he dismissed, clearly thinking.

“Why did you not consult any of us before attempting to take care of this on your own?”

“Where did that come from?” his head whipped to the side as he surveyed her.

“I have a lot of time to think if you hadn’t already noticed.”

“In answer to your question, I felt that the responsibility was on my shoulders to find an answer, no one else’s. Except maybe Tom, but he was in no state to fix it.”

Georgiana looked down at her hands in her lap, “And why did you not ask me for assistance?”

Sidney looked over at her, astonished, “What would possess you to think that I would, at any point in time, attempt to take away even a shilling of your inheritance?”

“Am I not a part of this family now?” she asked, looking up to make eye contact with him, her eyes welling.

“Of course you are a part of this family,” he said, his tone soothing, “but that money was gifted to you by your father. I have been appointed by him to protect it as well as you, and I will not waver from that, Georgiana. I would never-”

“Even if I wished to invest of my own accord? If I made the choice, for myself?”

“Granted, that would be your choice, but you are not of age, Georgiana. Not only that, I believe that, under the current circumstances, were we to withdraw Mrs C’s money and rely on yours, it would not be an investment that I would recommend as having any growth potential at present. That will come later. Much later, if we even succeed.”

“But as my guardian, you could approve the transfer of funds. I know this, Sidney. I have researched it.”

“True, but I would not,” he said resolutely.

“Do you know what it’s like for me? Have you even considered the position you have put me in by doing what you have? My guardian and my best friend are both living this perverse half-life, determined to stay separate for purposes of duty and loyalty to Tom Parker. Why would you go to such lengths to jeopardise your right to happiness? Think of what it will do to the rest of us, because it affects us all, Sidney. Not just you and Charlotte. ALL of us.”

Sidney swallowed, taken aback, unsure of how to respond.

“You need to know that you are not the same man you were at the Midsummer Ball, and Sidney, we want that man back. We want Charlotte back. This rift has torn at us all, and we must find a way to fix it, to at least try to find a solution that doesn’t involve you ending up trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman I cannot even tolerate, let alone allow into my life.”

“Mrs C is more than I bargained for, that is for certain.”

“She is awful, Sidney, the worst person imaginable. She has not been kind to me.”

“What do you mean?” He lifted his head from the pillow to look at her, "Georgiana...has she done something to you?".

“I have no wish to repeat it, nor relive it, but her comments have certainly rivalled those of Lady D.”

Sidney groaned in frustration falling back to his pillow. 

“Let’s just say that she has not been welcoming to me, and I don’t believe that she will ever allow me to see you after the marriage. Nor visit you in London. I will be trapped here with Mrs Griffiths and the blasted Beaufort sisters for the sole fact that she does not believe I belong in her world.”

Sidney turned to her, his expression altered, “Thank you, Georgiana.” he said, his voice slightly stronger in tone.

“For?”

“For waking me up from this haze I have been in.”

Georgiana looked at him mischievously, “And what would one do after waking from a haze such as yours?”

“I have no idea what I’m about to do, but I know that the situation I have landed us in is not desirable for anyone involved, even Mrs Campion, and I must find a way out. For your sake as well as my own.”

“And for Charlotte.” 

“Yes. For Charlotte.”


	9. Chapter 9

Charlotte awoke to an unfamiliar and rather extravagant ceiling the following morning. The brocade hangings of her well-appointed four poster bed, which she hadn’t drawn, brushed her arm as she sat up, alert, scanning the room before her. Morning light streamed in from the large window by the marble fireplace and danced cheerily upon the bright green panelling around the room and Charlotte found that for the first time in weeks, she felt happiness coursing through her body, her mind swirling with the exciting prospects of what lay ahead.

She quickly discovered upon their arrival the day before that everything about Lady Susan’s London residence reflected her status, whether intended or not. In her bedroom alone, the walls were lined with intricate motifs painted in silver, the furnishings - she had the choice of either wingback chairs near the fireplace or a chaise longue in a slightly more secluded space nearer the window - were upholstered in velvet, and an elegantly carved writing desk had been placed along the wall opposite, stocked with paper and ink, ready for her to share her experiences at any moment. She must get in touch with her parents, and perhaps Georgiana, she thought as her eyes landed upon the desk. She had yet to respond to her latest letter, and she had so much to tell.

She walked to the window, wrapping her shawl around her as she went, noticing that the fire had been lit while she had been asleep. Though it was situated near Berkeley Square, Weston Place felt as spacious as a country house, with its expansive, bright spaces and high ceilings that resembled what Charlotte envisaged as more of a palace than a home. Even the exterior space was substantial, she observed, as she looked out upon a walled courtyard with formal gardens and walkways, contrasting heavily with the rows of terraced houses beyond.

The bedroom door opened behind her as she looked out upon the courtyard, admiring the way in which it lent the feeling of being nearer to the countryside. A lady’s maid entered the room swiftly and with purpose, a freshly pressed gown in her hands. “Milady sent me up to get you dressed, Miss.”

“Ah,” Charlotte said hesitantly, “Thank you, Martha, but I am quite accustomed to doing so on my own if you could just help with my stays?”

She smiled at this, walking over to Charlotte with stays, petticoat and stockings in hand. “Milady said you might say as such.” she said, finishing the task with a few swift motions, in so short a time that Charlotte had hardly looked away from the window when she said, “I will return to assist with your hair in a moment, Miss.”

Charlotte nodded, catching sight of her hair in the mirror, still tangled from the bath that had been drawn for her the night before. “All right, then,” she agreed.

\----------

Charlotte was later to breakfast than she thought possible, her hair taking far longer to arrange than her dress, and she found herself shaking her head at the impracticality of it all as she descended the grand marble imperial staircase. She certainly wouldn’t have had the luxury of sparing that much time in Willingden just to make sure her hair was done properly.

“Charlotte,” Susan greeted her happily at the base of the stairs. “Oh, I do rather like how Martha has styled your hair,” she said, looking at it appraisingly.

“It is lovely, I will admit, but I hope you know that there is no need to go to such trouble, Susan. I have no wish to take away the time of your Lady’s Maid,” she said.

“Oh, nonsense. A new adventure in London calls for trying new things, does it not?”

Charlotte flushed as Susan took her arm and began leading her toward one of many corridors on the ground floor.

“Now, speaking of new things, let’s get you some breakfast because we have a long day ahead and a very exclusive appointment this afternoon.”

“Appointment?” Charlotte felt alarmed. What did she have up her sleeve?

“Yes. I happen to be very well acquainted with one of the finest modistes in London, and I must say, she is very much looking forward to meeting the lovely Miss Heywood.”

“She already knows of me? Susan, it is too much,” she said, visibly discomfited.

“Oh, it is just the beginning, my dear. Many surprises await you, all of them the very best, I hope. Now, let’s seize the day, shall we?” 


	10. Chapter 10

That afternoon, Susan and Charlotte took a carriage to Bond Street, which by Charlotte’s estimation appeared to be the busiest street in all of London. The carriage progressed slowly through the hordes of traffic, creeping its way along at a pace far slower than the average person could walk, a suspicion which was repeatedly confirmed as pedestrians bustled past on the way to their next destination, walking quickly and purposefully in the afternoon sunshine.

Madame Devy’s shop was located at the corner of Bond and Grafton Street in an attractive-looking columned storefront with large windows that displayed the latest fashions. Charlotte hardly knew where to step as she exited the carriage, and her confusion grew as she watched Susan's footman kindly forge a path through what she now realised was a large crowd surrounding the entrance to the shop. 

“Susan…” she started, and quickly found she had no idea what to say.

Susan took Charlotte’s elbow and stood by her side. “It’s all right, dear, just a few admirers who must have found me out.”

“Admirers?”

“Yes, dear. It happens on occasion - particularly where new fashions are involved, I have found.”

Susan pulled her gently from the spot where her feet had become rooted, and Charlotte looked among the crowd of ladies in astonishment, shocked at the reception of her friend, the awed expressions, the stillness of the crowd as they passed by, and all the while, Susan smiled warmly at the group of admirers. Within moments, they had reached the entrance, and it opened as if by its own accord to allow them in, closing abruptly behind them as if it had all been a dream.

“Your Ladyship! So happy you could come!” A very elegantly dressed lady approached them, dropping a large book of fabric samples upon a table as she did so. Susan stepped forward to greet the woman, expressing her gratitude at arranging the appointment during such a busy time of day, and Charlotte observed that they were the only ladies within the shop. An exclusive appointment, indeed.

“Charlotte, I would like to introduce you to the most talented modiste in all of London, and the woman who keeps me up to date with the latest fashions. This is Madame Devy.” Susan said.

Charlotte curtsied before the modiste in greeting. 

“Ah, my lady, we shall have a wonderful time dressing her, shall we not?” Madame Devy looked positively inspired, clicking her tongue happily as she appraised Charlotte from every possible angle.

“Yes,” said Susan, “I have been looking forward to this for some time, I must say.” Charlotte noticed a glint in her eye and peered at her quizzically.

“What have you planned?” she asked.

“Oh, just a few minor surprises. You shall see, my dear.” Susan steered her toward a large table in the shop, two empty seats awaiting them as Madame Devy brought out several drawings of the latest fashions for her to peruse.

“Now,” said Susan, taking her seat and patting the chair next to her, “How about we get started? If you are to be my guest for the season, we have much to plan for.”

“But Susan, I have brought dresses with me. Really, there is no need to plan for the entire season.”

Susan waved a hand dismissively, “And yet, plan we shall, dear Charlotte. You are my special guest, and I want you to feel as such.”

Charlotte hesitated, “Is this to do with our…”

“That will be an added benefit, my dear. I mainly wish to spoil you, simply because I can. Besides, I can think of no young lady more deserving.”

She flushed at hearing such a degree of praise, and Lady Susan laughed in her joyous manner. “My dear, I must also take note to compliment you more often. I am sure that Madame Devy would agree that it is likely to happen to you frequently once you make an appearance at Lady Wessex’s ball.”

“What? Lady Wessex?” Charlotte asked, as her experience at Mrs Maudsley's rout began to emerge fresh in her mind, suddenly making her feel ill at the thought of attending another such event. This had not been a part of their early workings of a plan. 

“Why, it is in less than a month. She is always a bit early for the season, and yet the London set seems to crowd her palatial home as if it were the spring. But never mind all that, I believe that we have a task at hand, and Madame Devy is a very busy woman. Shall we?”

Charlotte took her place at the table reluctantly, at first, and found that she became gradually more at ease as the afternoon of discussing the latest fashions progressed, often asking for input from Madame Devy and Susan, subtly indicating her penchant for simplicity when she sensed that they were both veering too far off course, settling upon patterns that were both adventurous for Charlotte and yet, not quite as vibrant as Lady Susan’s preferences tended to be. 

As they rode away in the carriage through the unceasingly busy traffic along Bond Street, mentally fatigued after an afternoon of decision-making, Charlotte had determined that this was exactly what she had been in need of all along - the opportunity to start anew.

As if knowing precisely where her thoughts lay, Susan turned to her and asked, “Do you know why I invited you to London, Charlotte?”

“Why, yes, to be your companion, and well, perhaps...in no small part to carry out the plans we discussed on the way to London?” she ended her response in a question, unsure of how to phrase that they were plotting to take control of her future.

“Mmm,” she said, noncommittally, “perhaps that was a small part, but only just. Our short acquaintance has reminded me of a similar time in my own life, it is true. And yet, my dear, I must not allow my eagerness of yesterday get in the way of what I truly wish for you.”

“So, you have other reasons?”

“It can take so very long for a young woman to find her place in the world, Charlotte, and often we are married off before we are even allowed to find it. So I must say, that regardless of what happens in the coming weeks as the season starts and new acquaintances are made, I wish only that you have the chance to find wherever that may be, for once you do, the world can never take that from you.” She patted Charlotte’s hand as if to comfort her, and she had the sense in that moment, that perhaps she could bring comfort to Susan as well. 

“I must say, Susan,” Charlotte began, “I am still unsure of how I came to be here at all, to be lucky enough to have your friendship.”

Susan laughed, “Oh, my dear girl, I am the lucky one. Do you know how long it had been since I had the pleasure of speaking to someone so honest as you? Our first meeting at the ball was a shock to the system after years of polite conversation.”

“Well, I did have a thrilling story to tell that particular evening,” Charlotte laughed, “I can’t promise you the same on an average day, I’m afraid.”

“You are as genuine as they come, Charlotte. Never allow anyone or anything to change that.” Susan patted her hand again with more energy. “Now, do tell me your thoughts on this afternoon. Are you marginally more excited about attending the first ball of the season?”

“Earlier, I would not have admitted as much, but I do believe I am, after all.” Charlotte smiled. “Thank you, Susan, for everything.”

“Thank _you_ , my dear, for keeping a lonely and admittedly rather bored woman company.” said Susan, “and regardless of what happens in the coming weeks, or where our plan leads, know that my sincerest wish is to allow you to jump into the next phase of your life. Wherever that might lead or whatever it might look like, you will have my support. Always.”


	11. Chapter 11

Mary awoke suddenly that night, eyes fluttering open in an instant as she recalled the nightmare she had just been having. The very same dream had been recurring as of late.

Attempting to catch her breath, she sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side as Tom snored obliviously beside her. She turned to look at him in the darkness, endeavouring to make him out, a familiar sense of bitter indignation welling within her as she stared at him. Lately, she found that she could not so much as meet his gaze without feeling something resembling disdain.

She stepped down from the bed, landing softly on the rug beneath her, though she doubted that he would be disturbed by much of anything - the unfeeling, senseless man.

Donning her dressing gown, she left the room, stepping carefully down the staircase at Trafalgar House. Perhaps she might be able to accomplish something now that the household was asleep.

She paused as she descended the stairs, noticing the light of a candle flame emerging from Tom’s study, and her heart leapt into her throat as she softened her steps, silently cursing the sound of her dressing gown as it trailed along behind her. Stepping carefully across the corridor, she halted just outside and peered into the room. Sidney Parker stood over Tom’s desk, shuffling through papers, turning pages in ledger books, and before she could control her reaction, before she even thought twice, she emitted a sigh of relief which caused him to jump in alarm, mid page-turn.

“Careful now,” she said, having jumped a bit herself at his reaction, “I will not have you injuring yourself further.”

“Good God, Mary,” he said, bracing his hands upon the desk as he hunched over in pain. “I thought you were Tom.”

“Fortunately for you, I am not,” she said, amused. “But tell me, have you come to your senses at last?”

“In all honesty,” he said, looking marginally guilty as he closed a ledger book and set it off to the side, “this is not my first foray into Tom’s financial records.”

“How long have you been working in the early hours of the morning, then?”

“Well, time is rather more difficult for me to track as of late, but nearly a week, if not longer,” he smiled sheepishly, fixated on the next ledger book in the stack before him. 

She walked toward her writing desk in the corner of the room, and paused, “Perhaps now would be a good time to admit to working on a bit of something, myself.”

“Oh?” he asked, somewhat alarmed, “Please tell me you haven’t written to her, Mary. I’m nowhere near ready for that.”

“No, I haven't written to her. Trust me, we have remained silent on that front, as you wished,” she answered. “Speaking of, how was your visit from Mrs Campion? I expected her to stay...longer.”

“Yes, some mention of being far too busy with engagements to have the time to visit her severely injured fiancé, which should be all the evidence I need that she cares little for me.”

“Ah, I see,” said Mary, “And what has she planned in the coming months to fill her schedule to such a degree?”

“She is to set off for Paris within a fortnight. For how long, I do not know, but some weeks, I would imagine.”

“Wedding preparations?”

“Yes, purchasing God knows what. She may not care for me, but she certainly has every wish to make an impression with the blasted Beau Monde.”

“Excellent news,” said Mary. “You will be even more recovered within a fortnight. Recovered enough to travel, certainly - although, perhaps by carriage this time.”

“True. Why do you mention it?”

“Esther wrote of a rather important social event that she and Lord Babington will be attending in London. The very first since they were married. She expressed an interest in inviting you to join them, is all. I hope that you don’t mind, but I felt as if I should update them both on your condition. They are very concerned about you.”

“I thank you, Mary, but I have no time for such frivolity.”

“Oh, I think that this particular engagement will be well worth an evening. You shall see, in time, but for now, gather what information you can. I will help you. We have much to look over before you go.” She gestured at the piles of documents that had been building steadily since Charlotte had left, having since been subjected to Tom’s tumultuous filing methods, or even worse, correspondence that had been ignored entirely in favour of frequent site visits.

He looked across the room at her, puzzled. “Mary...is there something I should know about?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“To be honest, I couldn’t even begin to describe it, but know that your best interests are at heart.”


	12. Chapter 12

“My God, Parker,” Babington all but ran to him upon his arrival at Bedford Place, embracing him rather too forcefully. Sidney found it suddenly very difficult to breathe. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said, his eyes welling up as he stepped away from him, bringing his knuckles to his mouth to quell the sob that threatened to emerge.

“Now, now, Babbers,” said the voice of Crowe behind him, “no need to steal the spotlight from our friend with such an embarrassing display of emotion.” He stepped forward to greet Sidney properly and leaned into him, “But honestly, old friend, I must know...were you really split open like a piece of overripe fruit fallen from the tree?”

Sidney grimaced in response. “Something like that, yes.”

“Then you have recovered well. Very well, indeed,” said Crowe, patting him on the arm as if he had just won a trophy, before looking about the room. “Now tell me, Parker...did your Miss Lambe accompany you to London?”

“What?” Sidney’s expression turned suspicious, protective, “What would possess you to ask after Miss Lambe?”

“Oh, just curious.” murmured Crowe as he craned his neck to look in the adjacent morning room.

“No, Crowe, you are not to be curious about Miss Lambe, is that clear?”

Crowe placed a hand on his shoulder, a look of amusement upon his face, “merely hoping for the chance to admire her is all - nothing more, old friend. Now,” he clapped his hands, “do we not have something to deliver, Babbers?”

“Why yes, we do,” Babington reached inside his coat and handed a card over to Sidney.

“Babbers, why the devil have I been called to London to attend a ball?” Sidney asked, flipping over the invitation as if he might find the reason on the other side of the card.

“Call it a night out with old friends.”

“ _Without_ Mrs Campion near. She is still in Paris, is she not?” Crowe asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, yes of course. Should be for some time.”

“Excellent.” Crowe smiled mischievously, “now, are you going to invite us to play a round of cards or shall I have to go in search of your butler to settle us in.”

Sidney smiled, realising just how much he had missed their companionship over the past couple of months. “Cards, it is.”


	13. Chapter 13

The day of the ball approached faster than Sidney thought possible. Linton had subtly removed the brandy from his study shortly after midnight the night before and yet, Sidney had worked into the late hours, poring over business documents that Tom had left in London, working his way through piles of letters that referenced unpaid debts, calculating the running total as he progressed.

Linton had awoken him at five that morning, still at his desk, face plastered against a hastily scribbled note written in Tom’s untidy hand, and sent him up to bed to rest, citing his injury as reason enough.

“Linton, really, I am quite healed.” he protested, as he was gently prodded up the stairs of Bedford Place.

“You forget that I may be your butler, Mr Parker, but I am also your valet. You are not  _ quite _ healed in the least.” 

Sidney responded with a scowl, as he proceeded up the stairs with slightly less resistance.

“I have been given strict instructions from Mrs Parker to make sure that you are rested for this evening.”

Sidney slowed, turning to glance back at Linton, “Have you, now?”

“Yes, Sir, and unlike you, I am inclined to follow instructions.”

“Well said, Linton. Perhaps I might oblige, after all. I wouldn’t want to rope you into this.”

“Go on, then. I will wake you when the bath is ready. Mrs Parker has also requested a change of bandages.”

“Of course she has, but on that front, I can manage quite well on my own, Linton. I shall spare you the horror.”

Linton stared at him in sceptical silence and turned swiftly to make his way back down the stairs. “Now get some rest,” he called behind him as he went on to the full schedule of tasks ahead. 

\----------

Sidney awoke that afternoon to the swish of draperies and a sudden burst of light. “Up now, Sir. Your bath is drawn.”

He groaned slightly before rolling on to his side, realising all too late that he was putting all of his weight on his wound. He winced, his side aching, and sat up, head spinning slightly as he reoriented himself. 

“Now, Master Parker, what do you wish to wear this evening?” Sidney had a brief flashback to a far younger Linton asking him the very same question when he was little more than a boy. On occasion, Linton would slip in his address, as if travelling years into the past and refer to him as Master Parker, and even though he was a grown man, it brought him comfort to hear it, for as it stood, Linton was the very age his parents would have been, had they survived.

“I don’t much mind, Linton. Perhaps something that won’t show the blood seeping through my bandages will do just fine.”

“Ah, then I will do my very best, Sir, but I believe you are no longer at risk of bleeding entirely through bandages. I had rather set my heart on the gold waistcoat, you see.”

Sidney looked away, momentarily distracted, before meeting Linton’s expectant gaze, “Right then, the gold will do.”

“It is settled, then. Now hurry along, Master Parker. The bath will get cold.” 

He lifted his linen shirt carefully over his head as he walked across the room to the bath. What he wouldn’t give to go for a swim again. Perhaps in the spring.


	14. Chapter 14

Lord and Lady Babington arrived at Bedford Place later that evening, with Crowe following close behind. 

“Sidney!” Esther exclaimed in a tone that indicated immense relief at seeing him alive. 

“Lady B, how are you?” Sidney said, emerging from his study where he had admittedly been searching for the brandy, both to lessen the pain in his side and calm a few unexpected nerves that had materialised, but Linton had apparently reached his stash before him, and it was nowhere to be found. 

“Happy that you have quite recovered, as I see it now.” 

“Yes, well, I had the very best looking after me at Trafalgar House. Mary and Georgiana both hardly left my side.”

“And how are they?” Esther asked, and Sidney sensed a degree of homesickness in her eyes.

“Very well, likely relieved to be rid of me for a bit to get back to normal.”

“Babington and I plan to visit my aunt before too long, don’t we dear.” she looked to Babington.

“Yes, we shall stay for a time.”

“And skip out on the season?” Sidney asked in mock horror.

“Yes, you’re right, who would deign to miss such a chance for _such_ company. Perhaps we will wait until the spring, after all.”

Esther rolled her eyes, “Well, if that is the case, I shall be the one to visit my aunt and you, Babington, can enjoy the season with Mr Crowe.”

Crowe had reappeared as if summoned, a glass of brandy in hand.

“Hey,” said Sidney, “Where did you find that?”

“This?” Crowe looked at the glass as if he had only just realised that it was in his hand, “I honestly couldn’t say.”

“Ready for the party, as usual, I see,” said Sidney.

“Always, my friend, always.” Crowe smiled happily, “And what would you expect? What with your Miss Lambe not around, I have nothing to look forward to.”

“What is it with you and Miss Lambe all of a sudden?” Babington threw his arms into the air, exasperated.

“She is very beautiful, Babbers.” Crowe placed a hand on Babington’s shoulder to illustrate his point. “A very beautiful young lady.”

“And off limits to you, Crowe, is that clear?” Sidney said, adopting the tone of authority he often used in the presence of Georgiana, herself.

Crowe turned back to Babington, “Babbers, I do not like where this conversation is going. Remove me from this place at once, I beg of you.” 

“Wonderful, now we have officially entered the despondent phase. I had hoped to avoid this until we at least had a chance to dance this evening, my love.” Babington glanced longingly at Esther as Crowe swayed to the side, leaning what appeared to be all of his weight onto Babington's shoulder.

“Change of scenery, then?” Sidney asked, in an attempt to distract.

“Yes,” Crowe said, “Babbers, we are going to a ball.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

“And there are lots of beautiful ladies at a ball.”

“Yes, there are, although I have a feeling,” he said, turning Crowe back toward the front entrance to Bedford Place and handing his glass off to Sidney, “that you are going to see more of the card room this evening than the ballroom, old chap.” 

Sidney smiled, setting the glass upon a nearby table. 

“How nice it is to see you smile.” said Esther, “I wondered at one point if we ever might see that again.”

“Yes, well, if anything, this evening is proving to be a distraction from the pains of recovery.”

“I heard that Mrs C is in Paris at the moment,” she said, almost reluctantly.

“Yes, she is, and buying out half the modistes in the city, by my estimation.” 

“So, she is expected to be gone for some time, then?” Esther inquired.

“Yes, yes she is.”

“Well then,” she said, taking his arm as he offered it to her, “I would be disingenuous if I did not admit to looking forward to the evening ahead. I have the greatest feeling in the world that it will be memorable.”

“Is that so?” he looked at her quizzically, “I suppose an evening among friends ought to be memorable, particularly when it may be one of your last as a bachelor.”

“Precisely,” Esther said, and looked away without another word as they stepped out to the awaiting carriage.

\----------

They arrived fashionably late to the ball that evening due to a tremendous amount of traffic. “Must be the ball of the season, is it?” Sidney asked as he began to wonder how they had talked him into this. 

Babington laughed. “It is the _only_ ball at this point in the season, Parker, which means that everyone who is in town is at the bloody ball.”

Fortunately for the group, the wait allowed Crowe a chance to sober up slightly, though he at one point had to open the carriage door so suddenly that Esther startled, clutching Babington’s arm as Crowe leaned out to heave over the street.

By the time they walked through the extraordinarily large columned entry fit for the Prince Regent, Sidney’s mind began to whirl, memories emerging as he subconsciously scanned the crowd for Charlotte. He found that he searched for her more often by the day, hoping against hope that she might appear, dashing through a crowd at a ball such as this, escaping the din in favour of a wing or courtyard, and then he abruptly shook the thought from his mind. It would not do to dwell on what could not be. She was with her family in Willingden, after all. Georgiana had all but confirmed it.

“Not that I wish to take this man anywhere near the alcohol, but Parker, I could kill for a glass of port.” 

“Quite all right, Babbers. You go and mingle, I will focus on the port. I could use one myself.” 

He patted Babington on the shoulder and began to take the winding path to the refreshments.


	15. Chapter 15

Having missed out on the brandy earlier in the evening, Sidney was delighted to discover the refreshments only moments after leaving Babington, Crowe and Esther behind, and as he turned away from the table, two glasses in hand, he found himself, once again, surveying the crowded ballroom before him.

“Ah, thanks, Parker,” Babington said, approaching him as if out of thin air, reaching for the glass that Sidney held out for him.

“Did you shake off the rest of the party, already, Babbers?” 

“Crowe is settled in the card room at present, although he didn’t quite make it to an actual table, and Esther went out to do her usual circuit - said she had some ladies she’d like to see and honestly, I didn’t ask her to elaborate any further,” he said, watching as Sidney reached for his second glass of port, downing half of it in seconds.

“Slow down, Parker. We have all night,” Babington said. “And the last thing I need is to put you in the card room alongside Crowe. As it is, I doubt there is enough space left on the sofa where I left him.”

The musicians launched into the first bars of a quadrille to start off the evening and the guests around them began to disperse as they attempted to find a better view of the dancers. Sidney and Babington turned with the crowd, moving closer to scan the room.

It was he who saw her first, moving about the dance floor in her own unique fashion. Sidney stopped abruptly, the nearly empty glass of port in his hand threatened to slip from his grasp, his attention wholly fixed as he stared across the room. He would have known her anywhere, recognising her movements as much as he would her countenance. 

He felt a stirring in his chest, then an unfamiliar feeling as his heart began to beat, the blood thrummed up to his ears, amplifying the sound of life and will and want, and his heart answered, beating more intensely as his eyes followed her, never wavering.

The music lessened in volume, the sounds of his surroundings had tapered off to nothingness, and he focused only on her, breathing to stay alive, breathing to feel his heart within his chest - anything to keep it from going still, from going silent. He had lived too long in that silence. 

He had forgotten how the intoxication felt when he was near her, how it spread through his body, amplified his senses until he could feel every cell. It flooded back to him now, elation clouding his mind into a haze. 

She spun away from her dance partner, her skirts moving away from her body as she twirled, laughing in her innocent way. Sidney reacted, emitting a sound that was equal parts euphoria and misery, his breath hitching in his throat, tears of disbelief welling, blurring his view of her. 

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, tapping briefly, then again. He turned abruptly, angrily at whomever had deigned to interrupt until his eyes landed on Babington.

“Parker, are you all right?” he asked, nothing short of concerned. “Look at me. Do you need some air?” He leaned in to make eye contact with Sidney as he came back to the present. “Parker...Lord, what has happened? Is it your-” 

Sidney merely looked back across the room, and Babington followed his gaze, realisation dawning upon his face. “Well, that explains it.” he said cautiously to Sidney, who very nearly glowed beside him, and Babington allowed a smile to escape. Though his heart filled with sadness for his dear friend, who was looking upon someone he was not at present entitled to have, the spark of gaiety was plain for all to see, cementing the thought that he could not bear to see it snuffed out. 

“Stay here, old friend,” He had just caught a glimpse of Esther across the room. “I have an idea.”

\----------

  
  
Charlotte sought out Susan as she walked to the edge of the stifling ballroom. Where had she gone? She glanced down at her dance card. Lord Eliot had asked to dance the cotillion.

“Good evening, Miss Heywood. Looking even lovelier in the candlelight, I see.” 

She turned to see the very gentleman bowing in greeting, as he extended his arm to her. She placed her hand upon his with a polite smile and he led her onto the floor. Finally, she locked eyes with Susan as they went, who did little more than wink conspiratorially at her. Charlotte narrowed her eyes knowingly in response. What had she been up to? 

Lord Eliot, though a seemingly kind man, was at least twenty years her senior - and, in her mind, among the very last of men she would consider in that way. He released her hand, readying himself for the dance, and Charlotte, distracted, attempted to communicate wordlessly with Susan as the music started, but her attempts were in vain. In a flash, they were off, her feet moving of their own accord as her mind raced, very suddenly afraid to look at the dancers that surrounded her - fearful of what she might find if she did.

Within a breath, before she had time to entertain the possibilities, his hand was upon hers, his touch instantly recognisable - familiar even though months had passed without it. 

He released her as quickly as he had appeared, and Charlotte found that she could no longer prevent herself from lifting her gaze, searching until she found him, unable to breathe until she knew with certainty. 

She sought him out as she circled her new dance partner, noticing a flash of tailcoat, a familiar gold vest emerging from the crowd of dancers, and the unmistakable feel of his arms entwined with her own, her muscle and bone fusing to his, fitting together as though they belonged. She looked up at the face she had committed to memory, his penetrating gaze evoking sorrow, hunger, lips parting to finally release the breath he had been holding. 

He curled his fingers around hers, holding her longer than he should have, willing her to stay, and yet she broke apart from him, moving away to someone else, her face turning to look back as they moved to the next dance partner and the next before coming together again.

His hand reached for her waist this time - warmth radiating through the fabric, leaving its mark as he pulled her closer. 

She could smell his scent, nearly as familiar as her own, instantly aware that this was what she had missed most of all - standing close enough to breathe him in. 

She twirled away from him, and he spun her back, gripping her waist, holding her too closely, challenging her not to go on. He gazed at her intently as he held onto her, his eyes showing the possessiveness that he felt so clearly that she turned resolute in her response to him. 

He was making a spectacle. She could hear murmurings in the crowd as his head dipped toward hers, drawn into her. Anger welled within her, resolve strengthening as she removed herself from his grasp, his hands following her as she turned away from him, grazing back and arm until she was out of reach - her body betrayed her with every step as she returned to her original partner.

Lord Eliot led her to the edge of the ballroom, bowing before he released her hand, and as he turned away, Charlotte inhaled sharply, her eyes brimming, threatening to overflow as she forced her way through the crowd, desperately seeking an alcove, an exit, a place to be alone, a place to mourn what she had lost.


	16. Chapter 16

Sidney led Esther back to where they had both left Babington, stealing glances over his shoulder at Charlotte, who had already managed to disappear from view, a wave of panic beginning to course through him, adrenaline fueling his movements. 

Esther turned to him the moment they reached the edge of the ballroom floor. “Go, Sidney. Go to her now. I will be fine.” She smiled kindly at him.

“Yes.” he nodded at her, his mind already distracted, struggling to figure out the best course of action, and finding that he had no apparent answer. “Yes, I shall.” He gave her the briefest of bows. “Thank you, Esther.”

“ _Go_.” she repeated, her eyes flitting to the opposite side of the room, and as if triggered by her last word, he turned in the direction Charlotte had walked, making his way along the edge of the room, searching the crowd for her, dodging anyone he knew in his path, no longer able to hide his determination to reach her.

His heart raced as crucial seconds passed, members of the Beau Monde stifling him, preventing him from moving past - a fisher’s net that threatened to suffocate him.

And yet he broke through, progressing painstakingly to the other side of the ballroom, persistent and unflagging. _He must find her. He must reach her. He must. He must. He must._

He repeated the words in his mind as he opened doors and pulled aside curtains that led to corridors and revealed hidden alcoves, his breath catching in his throat at the thought of finding her at last, and releasing in marked disappointment when she would not be found.

He escaped into the depths of the building, one corridor leading to the next, his heart leaping at every turn, but she was not there.

Sidney dropped his head in his hands, frustration evolving into despair. After all this time, he had still lost her. How could this be? One fleeting encounter - was that all they were meant to have? To be reunited and broken apart yet again was the cruellest sort of punishment even he could imagine.

He turned to navigate his way back, attempting to remember where he had turned to at least find his way out of this wretched building. Defeated, he walked on, feeling more trapped by the second as he realised just how lost he had become.

He passed entrance upon entrance, each looking identical to the last, revealing more expansive rooms than he had even thought possible for the grandest London house, and as he realised that he may have taken yet another wrong turn, an unfamiliar gleam of light caught his eye.

He approached an open doorway, stepping slowly, hesitantly, certain that he hadn’t walked by it before. His breath hitched in his throat as he moved closer, his eyes finally catching sight of her. Charlotte Heywood sat crumpled on the floor of the library, her gown surrounding her body like a cloud before a grand fireplace, two wingback chairs on either side of her.

Sidney let out a sob of relief at the sight of her as he brought his fist to his mouth in embarrassment, and then thought of nothing else as he moved toward the room, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

She looked up at the sound, startled at seeing him, at seeing anyone, and she rose quickly, almost lithely from her position on the rug.

“I wish to be alone, Mr Parker,” she said, attempting to wipe away any evidence of tears.

He tilted his head in anguish, his voice desperate as it came out in barely more than a whisper. “Please, Charlotte.”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slowly, tears welling in her eyes before she could hold them back, “please, I beg of you, just leave me be.”

He stepped toward her, his own resolve breaking, “Charlotte...please, there is something you must-”

“How could you?” she spouted, a look of disdain appearing upon her face that stopped him in his tracks. “I have spent months of my life trying to forgive you, and still I am left with anger and torment and disbelief as if the news had just been broken.”

His heartbeat quickened, pulsing through his neck, up to the vein in his forehead as he sought an answer. “If there had been another way-”

“There might have been a thousand ways, and yet you did not pursue them.”

“I had one week, Charlotte," he swallowed nervously, "one week to keep my brother and his family from the debtor’s prison, and I tried-”

“You tried?” she laughed bitterly.

“Don’t you dare think that I did anything less than knock on every door in London before I went to hers.” His voice had raised, anger building within him despite everything.

“And yet, you still went, and without consulting me, without even so much as a warning-”

“I had no choice!” he shouted, his hands balled into fists, his breathing quick and shallow as he stepped closer.

“No, Sidney,” she said in a surge of indignation, “you had a choice, and the choice is already made.”

She looked at him defiantly, angrily, as silence filled the room, but her face could not keep up the pretence, and he watched as her expression deteriorated before him - and with horror, he saw that tears had started to flow down her lovely face. Sidney began to move toward her, his hands outstretched, instinctively trying to soothe her, but she stepped back.

“Why must you come back into my life?” she uttered despairingly, looking directly at him, piercing his soul with the pain he had caused her. “I had just started living again, and now-”

He stood before her, absorbing the extent of her misery, breathing it in and out through his mouth until he found he could no longer stand it. He nodded, lowering his head, feeling his revived heartbeat die in his chest. He could handle almost anything, but this.

He swallowed down a sob, but his eyes he could not control as they welled. “I find…” he faltered, overcome with an anguish that was unrelenting, threatening to render him speechless as he sought the right words, the words he had imagined speaking to her a thousand times over, “that you are the very person - the only person, in fact-.”

“Enough,” she nearly shouted in frustration, her whole body moving with the effort. “What good will it do?”

He found that he did not know what to do, how to act, how to proceed, desperation taking hold of his body as he moved toward her. “Charlotte, please.” he appealed, reaching for her hands, but she shook him away, unbalancing him, and his heart fell again, lower, unable to stand the feeling of rejection spreading within him. _Not this. Not from her._

Tears spilled from her eyes, her voice choked from the effort. “I could live my entire life with the comfort of knowing that you are honourable, that you are a man of your word - and yet you follow me, and treat me as if we could be what we are not.”

His breathing increased yet again, swift and tenuous, and he found he could not catch it. “Charlotte,” he said, his hands finding hers at last, gripping onto them as if his life depended upon it as he stepped nearer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, and even after their time apart, her body deceived her - her heartbeat increasing as she leaned into him. “I never thought... please, I cannot bear it, this torment. I cannot breathe for it.” He leaned closer still, his breathing ragged, his eyes fixed upon hers. “I have tried, for months I have tried...I cannot keep myself from you.”

She stilled, intoxicated by him, close enough to breathe him in as he touched his forehead to hers, his quick breaths upon her mouth as she inhaled, waiting for the resolve to step away...but it did not come. “I know,” she sobbed, as body and mind became one again, her will diminishing to nothingness.

“Surely,” he breathed against her, in barely more than a whisper, “you must know, that we are beyond words.”

It was she who closed the space between them, seeking contact, her thoughts of propriety overshadowed by the notion that this may be the last time - her last chance to breathe and taste and touch - and he responded as if she had, in turn, breathed life back into his body. He embraced her, inhaling deeply as his hands moved to her hair, her waist, pulling her to him until their bodies met, unable to let go of the woman he loved.


	17. Chapter 17

Charlotte arrived late to breakfast the following morning. After having spent the majority of the night staring at the ceiling, Martha was gracious enough, upon finding her unrested and groggy, to allow her a bit more time to rest, though resting was the very last thing on her mind. Susan had already come and gone by the time she sat down at the table, and she rather wondered if a walk might suit her better. 

“Charlotte! I was hoping that I would have a chance to see you yet this morning.” 

She froze mid-reach, her hand hovering above the plate of toast, and looked almost hesitantly over her shoulder at Susan as she walked into the room, circling the table to take the seat across from her. “You were?”

“Yes, most certainly. I was hoping that you might tell me more about what happened at the ball. We must catch up.”

They had spoken briefly on the carriage ride back to Weston Place, but Charlotte had been vague in her answers, not wanting to reveal the extent of her encounter with Sidney Parker. She felt flushed, the warmth of it creeping up her neck as her mind wandered back to the library, and in a flash, his hands were upon her again, leaving their indelible mark as his mouth trailed down her neck. _I cannot keep myself from you._

She realised, all too late, that she had been holding her breath.

Susan eyed her suspiciously and shifted to the edge of her chair. “I am sensing that there is something you are not telling me, and if it is a private matter, I will not pry. I only know that you disappeared for quite some time after dancing with Mr Parker, nay seeing him for the first time in how many months, and my dear, I fear that others may have noticed. Charlotte...I need you to be careful, more careful than you have ever been, at least while you are outside this house. Do you understand?”

She found that she could hold it in no longer. “He followed me, Susan,” she said, overcome. “I tried to get away, but he followed me. What was I supposed to do?”

Susan's expression turned to one of concern, and she reached out her, resting her hand flat upon the table as if bracing herself. “Did anything happen, Charlotte?”

She felt the blood rush to her head in embarrassment, averting her gaze before she was even aware of it - having given her answer without speaking a word.

“Dear me, he is lost.” she said, absorbing the possibilities of what might have occurred had he followed Charlotte from the ballroom, her mind reeling, “I imagined that he would have a degree more self-control as a gentleman. Indeed, I know him to have more than to make such an advance.”

“I fear that he is not the same man, Susan,” Charlotte murmured, the devastation written upon her face so clearly that Susan knew she had only moments.

“Well, perhaps not last night, but we will find him yet.” she reached for Charlotte’s hand across the table in a comforting gesture, “I believe that he has been broken by his decisions, and from what you have relayed to me just now, he is merely worse off than either of us anticipated. This cannot be, Charlotte. We must work to put this to rights. I will not continue on as a witness to two young people in such tragic circumstances.”

Susan fell silent, and Charlotte looked over at her friend, witnessing a now-familiar look upon her face. A sly smile broke out upon her face, her eyes positively twinkling as she came to. “Yes, I believe I do know a way forward, after all.”

“What have you been planning in that great mind of yours?” Charlotte asked curiously.

“So often, plans come to fruition before we even realise they are hovering before us. But they tend to make an appearance if we observe closely.”

Charlotte recalled their exchange, focusing her mind on any clues that may have presented themselves, and lifted her head in triumph, “Susan, may I ask - how reliable are your servants?”

A grin broke out upon Susan’s face, her eyes brimming with pride for her young companion, “Very, my dear. I pay my servants well for many reasons, but discretion is among them.”

“I see,” said Charlotte. “So, if we were to, perhaps, have a visitor within this very house, we might find a means of at least beginning the process of putting this situation to rights.”

“Exactly my thinking, Charlotte. Shall we call for a meeting this afternoon?”

Charlotte smiled, approvingly.

Susan turned in her chair to ring the service bell. “Bradford” she greeted the butler as he entered the room.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Ready my writing desk. I have a matter of business to arrange.”

\----------

Sidney Parker sat in the study of his London house, poring over Tom’s financial documents, silently venting his frustration as he wrote increasingly untidy figures in the large ledger book fanned out upon the desk. He had spent weeks reviewing their records, searching for some sign that they were not as dependent on Eliza’s money as he had feared, and desperately thinking of a way that they could make it work without her. And desperate is just what he had become, each day increasingly moreso as he was met with even more evidence of debt. There was not an ounce of good news to be found.

At the very least, he did not have to deal with Eliza at the moment. She remained in Paris for the fall, spending an exorbitant amount of money on God knows what for the elaborate society wedding that was planned for the spring.

Six months. Six more months before his life would be over as he knew it. He was running out of time to fix it, running out of ideas as the panic of what lay before him set in.

He rubbed at his eyes, willing himself to get back to the stack of unopened letters he had unearthed, but he had not slept, could think of little else other than what had happened at the ball, of being reunited with the woman who had haunted him, left him standing alone on a cliffside, resolved to do something, anything to alter the outcome that he had resorted to of his own will.

He squeezed his septum, attempting to relieve the pressure from this throbbing headache. He had left the ball last night with a renewed determination to put this to rights, clouded with guilt and embarrassment at what he had done. How could he have lost so much control? It was reckless.

She deserved better than that. She deserved someone better than him. And yet, his mind went back to the moment when she had closed the space between them, her mouth seeking his with such intensity, he had instantly become lost in her.

“Mr Parker, Sir?”

“Yes, Linton." He cleared his throat, speaking in a much deeper voice than usual, and Linton eyed him warily.

“A letter has come for you, Sir...by courier,” he said, more slowly than usual, clearly trying to make out what he might have interrupted.

Sidney raised his eyebrows in as innocent a fashion as he could muster. “Oh, indeed.”

His heart began to beat wildly as he took the letter from the tray, written in an unfamiliar, yet very elegant hand. He turned it over and instantly identified the seal upon the back. 

_Lady Worcester._

Could it be that this was how Charlotte had come to London? He thought back to how she had appeared to him last night, dressed in finery he had never seen from her, the latest fashions that even Eliza did not own.

He opened the letter, unable to breathe as he broke the seal, reading feverishly. "A meeting at Weston Place..." he whispered.

“Linton?” he called after his butler, who had discreetly chosen to wait just outside the door, as he scribbled a hurried reply, “I need you to send this out as soon as possible. It is a matter of urgency, and must be delivered within the hour.”

“Yes, Sir, I will make sure of it.”

“Good man. Thank you,” He handed Linton the newly sealed correspondence, dismissing him from the study.

What could she mean? What on earth could she possibly want from him?


	18. Chapter 18

Mary sat staring absently at the breakfast table that morning, mechanically wiping down Henry’s face every few minutes, tending to the children in the same way she had done every morning for as long as she could remember, as they all listened to Tom remark excitedly about the latest developments at the terrace.

“I must send word of the Cornish stone delivery to Sidney at once. I’m certain that he is eager to inform Mrs Campion that it has arrived and building is set to resume with hardly a delay in the schedule. At this rate, we will be almost guaranteed to be finished by the spring, assuming that the weather cooperates, that is.”

“How wonderful, dear,” Mary said, distractedly. “Pray tell, will you be on another site visit today?”

“Yes, yes, I think I must. I want to make sure that the workers are progressing at a proper pace. Stringer is a capable sort, it is true, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes.”

“Well, I think it’s a marvellous idea,” Mary interjected, “don’t you, children?” The added notes of approval were just enough to make Tom burst out of his chair with nervous energy.

“Yes, yes I shall. Perhaps...perhaps I will get my things now and head over to the building site. They have been at it for a few hours already, and I am sure progress has been made. I should very much like to see it.”

“And so you should, Tom. Go on, I have everything handled here.” She smiled. “Wish your father a good day, children.”

“Good day, Papa,” they chorused, Henry slightly behind his sisters in his response, and with a smile, Tom Parker jetted from the room shouting eagerly for Morgan to help him locate his cane.

Mary remained seated as Tom jetted about the house, listening to his familiar motions as he sought cane and hat, donning his overcoat and, at long last, she heard the click of the front door as it latched behind him.

“Morgan?” she called.

“Yes, Ma’am”

“I would like to send a message to Mrs Griffiths’ to fetch Georgiana for the day. Would you be so kind as to arrange for her safe arrival?”

“Just the same as yesterday, then?”

“Yes, precisely. Thank you.”

Within the hour, Georgiana arrived, walking into Tom’s study as if it were her own home. Morgan had already fetched her bonnet and pelisse at the door, and she looked quite ready for the events of the day ahead.

“How much time do we have today?” she asked Mary from across the room.

Mary looked over at the clock, shifting a stack of papers as she did so. “Oh, at least two hours, maybe three.”

“All right, then, enough time to get through what I didn’t have a chance to yesterday.”

“My goodness, I got so caught up, I didn’t ask. Did you find anything of interest?”

“Just more receipts and letters of unpaid debts. Nothing too out of the ordinary.”

“Right, well, it will all be of use to us one way or another.”

“This is overwhelming, Mary. He has years worth of papers and documents.”

“I certainly understand your meaning, but we must keep our heads up. We will reach the end of this at some point. Sidney has written to me about the London house, and the piles of papers and ledger books he found left behind there.”

“What? You mean there are more??” Georgiana looked completely overwhelmed at this.

“Oh yes, I believe that Tom has kept every document that has ever been mailed to him after looking through what exists here.”

Georgiana took her usual seat at a small desk that Charlotte had often used when she organised Tom’s papers, beginning to separate everything into stacks to be reviewed by Mary later on, and finally stumbling upon the stack she had yet to finish from the day before. Within moments, they had settled into the comforts of routine work, the sounds of shuffling papers and the ticking grandfather clock in the corner their only interruptions...at least for a time.

“Where is he?” The voice echoed down the hall into the study and caused Mary to immediately sit bolt upright, dropping her quill as if she had been stung. “Tell me at once.”

They heard what must have been the pattering of Morgan’s feet as he pursued their unexpected visitor through the entrance hall, and Mary and Georgiana had only the time it took to turn in their chairs before Lady Denham burst into the study of her own accord.

“Lady...Denham,” Mary said, and found that she was quite unable to say anything further.

“Mrs Parker? Miss Lambe? What the devil." She looked about the room, at the piles of correspondence on each desk, Mary and Georgiana appearing more like clerks than ladies of leisure, and sniffed disapprovingly. "Has Mr Parker put you both to work to save money? What is the meaning of this?”

“No, Lady Denham, merely undergoing a bit of an organising project is all.” Georgiana chimed in, succeeding in conveying an air of nonchalance about the whole situation to such a degree that Mary couldn't resist darting a glance over at her.

She looked suspiciously at them, “And this is not a job suitable for a servant? Could he not afford to hire a clerk?”

“He...would rather I sort things out for him. I knew Charlotte’s system, you see, and as you said, it is a means of saving a bit of money.”

“I see…” she raised an eyebrow at them and they remained frozen in their seats, though quite unable to meet her gaze. “Now, tell me, where is Mr Parker, himself? I expected him yesterday and he seems to have vanished entirely.”

“He is visiting the worksite this morning, Ma’am. At the terrace.”

“Ah, the rebuild that is underway at last. I have a mind to see it, myself, as it happens."

"We expect he will be there at least for the rest of the morning. If you go directly, you may even catch him." Mary said, hoping against hope that her desire to track down her husband surpassed her curiosity.

"Yes..." She looked back and forth between them, the room falling into an uncomfortable silence, the clock ticking the only sound to be heard, and then she tapped her cane upon the floor. "Well then, I suppose that I shan’t keep you ladies from your...work. How very modern,” she said as if to herself as she turned to leave. As soon as she was out of sight, Mary turned back around in her chair and began to shuffle furiously through the papers in front of her.

“If that woman hadn’t felt entitled enough to barge in on me in my own house, I might have concealed something of this. And now, Tom will know of my meddling within the hour.”

“Mary…” Georgiana stood up from her chair abruptly, accidentally knocking a stack of unopened letters to the floor in her haste, and she scooped them up, setting them back on the desk, noticing something rather peculiar about the correspondence at the top of the pile that caused her to freeze momentarily. "Why is there a letter addressed to..." She reached for it, breaking the seal in a flash.

“What is it?”

Georgiana unfolded a large document that had been sealed within the folds of the letter, studying it closely, carefully. “Mary...h-have you seen this?” She held the document out at arm’s length and Mary walked over to fetch it from her, standing next to her as she read it.

“Please, tell me you have not,” Georgiana said in nearly a whisper.

“No, my dear, I had no idea this existed. And what-” a look of distress clouded her countenance, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. “He would never-”

“Would he have ever been that desperate?”

“No. It cannot be. I will not accept that this was signed in his hand.”

“I offered my inheritance. Why would he do this to me if he were to just-”

“Shhh, shhh,” she said softly, wrapping an arm around Georgiana’s shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry, dear, we will get to the bottom of this.”

Georgiana nodded, looking vacantly out the window, her expression turning to reveal the fury coursing within her. “If this is true...if she has roped him into this…”

“He would never leave her...I know.” Mary said, blinking rapidly. “Georgiana, I can honestly say I have no idea what to do.”


	19. Chapter 19

Charlotte sat in the library at Weston Place that afternoon, perched upon the window seat, a book left open and unread in her lap as her leg twitched nervously. She breathed slowly, attempting to calm her heart, but it was of no use. Soon, he would be here in this very room, and just like last night, she wasn’t entirely certain that she was ready for it.

She turned her head toward the street once more, attempting to make him out on the sidewalks nearby. Would he walk to Weston Place? Or was his London house far enough to be in need of a carriage or horse to reach them? Even after all this time, there were so many unknowns. How can one know a person better than anyone else without really knowing them at all? 

“Mr Parker, Miss.” She jerked her head to the library entrance, heart leaping with abandon as Bradford stood in the doorway, turning to one side to reveal the familiar figure she had been waiting for. 

“Th-thank you, Bradford,” she said, standing quickly, the open book, forgotten, falling to the floor in front of her. She blushed, crouching to pick it up, but another hand had reached it before hers. She lifted her head and looked straight into the eyes of Sidney Parker. “Mr Parker,” she said, shaking her head to illustrate her perceived foolishness, “thank you for your assistance.” 

“Pleasure,” he nodded, passing the book back to her. Yes, perhaps they could be civil after all, she thought, before realising that they had both paused longer than was necessary. She swallowed nervously as she reached out to take the book from him, brushing his fingers as she did so. 

They both stood quickly after that, attempting to at least feign propriety in their grand surroundings. 

“Miss Heywood,” he murmured in little more than a whisper. “I must admit, I did not know to expect you. I was summoned by Lady Worcester just this morning.”

Brought back to the present, she turned abruptly, moving toward the chairs that Susan had set out especially for their meeting. At the very least, she could ensure that they were at a safe distance. “Please,” she said, motioning to the other chair.

He moved to take the other seat, eyeing her cautiously, and yet, seemingly enthralled by such a turn of events. She had noticed from the very moment he entered the room that he appeared altered to her from the previous evening, closed off to the world much like he had been when they first met, and as he sat in the chair opposite, his almost defensive demeanour gave her pause. Perhaps she and Susan had thought wrong. Perhaps he was not, in fact, ready for what she was about to say.

“Mr Parker,” she began, hesitating, ”Lady Worcester has asked me to speak to you prior to your meeting today. I-I have been staying with her as a companion at her invitation, you see.”

He nodded, a curious expression upon his face, and she felt encouraged to continue.

“Lady Worcester and I have had several conversations regarding certain events that occurred over the summer,” she said, twisting her hands, her expression clearly discomfited.

His hand had come up to his chin, knuckles grazing his lips as he processed this. “I see. Please, do go on.”

“After numerous conversations on the matter, well, we may have a plan that - should it work, that is - could relieve you of your obligations to your family.”

He blinked once, then twice - his eyes searching hers, narrowing, and then his jaw jutted upward as if to illustrate his defiance at her words. “So, you have cooked up some scheme to set me free, is that it?” he asked, sounding amused, but the bitterness in his tone did not escape her detection, and it did not sit well with her.

She felt as if she had been struck. “Scheming?” she responded, anger building in her voice. “We have put our time and energy into this plan for months, and you refer to it as a ‘scheme’? Tell me, Mr Parker, are you more offended that two women are attempting to come to your rescue or that they may have reached an answer while you have yet to find a way out?”

“You speak out of turn, Miss Heywood,” he said, his voice rising along with hers. “Believe me when I say you have no business meddling in my affairs - affairs of which, I might add, you know nothing of.”

“And now you call it meddling,” she said, throwing her hands into the air, speaking through gritted teeth. “Say one more word to make me feel like less of a person, Mr Parker, and I swear to you that this is the last you will see of my _meddling_ in any of your affairs.” 

“That was never my intent and you know it.” He stood suddenly, hovering over her. “You know nothing of what I have endured. Nothing of what I have had to do.” She leapt from her chair in response so rapidly it nearly fell backwards.

“And you know my mind so well as to make such base assumptions as to think I’m a foolish young woman incapable of helping you in any way?” she seethed. “How could you?” 

“I had no thought for that, I assure you.” he snapped, voice raised.

“Well then, perhaps I am doing you no favours attempting to help. I wish you a miserable marriage, Mr Parker because from what I have seen today, you are entirely deserving of it.” She turned away, crossing her arms in defiance, armour against this horrid man that she so clearly no longer knew.

He laughed bitterly, hands on his hips as he nodded his head. “In this, Miss Heywood, we are entirely in agreement. Why should a man such as myself be so fortunate as to be with the woman he loves - the woman he would give his life for. Has done, in fact.”

She turned back to look at him, meeting his gaze, noticed how he breathed, his shoulders hunched, his eyes desperate as he shook his head in disbelief. “And then you come back to haunt me - to _torture_ me - when I know that even as I speak to you now, there is no way out. I am trapped, Charlotte, and there is...there is no way out.” 

He fell back, landing noisily upon the bookcase behind him, and Charlotte came to, her resolve lifting, replacing itself with more horrific unknowns that she had not yet entertained. 

She went to him, approaching as if he were a wounded animal, placed her fingers beneath his chin and lifted his hanging head. He looked at her at last, his eyes rimmed in red, glassy as they threatened to well over, emitting nothing but anguish as he looked upon her. “How I wished-” he broke off, bearing his very soul in a single breath. “How I wished to win you.” And she understood. 

“If I have learned anything from Susan in my time here, it is that there is always a way where she is involved. Let us in. Let us try to help.” She breathed in suddenly, attempting to regain control, to finish, “because I have been reunited with the man I love, and I simply cannot give up. If you are unable to do this for yourself, Mr Parker, do it for me - for the life that we could have. Please, I beg of you.”

He caught her hand in his and kissed it, gripping tightly as if it were his last time holding it, and she lifted her other hand hesitantly to his cheek, wiping away the tears that now ran freely down his face, cradling him so that he would not fall. 

\----------

“Charlotte...” he said at last.

“Yes, Mr Parker?”

“I - I must speak to you of something else. Last night.” His eyes clouded with guilt, and he found that he could no longer meet her gaze. 

“I remember it well,” she mused.

“I owe you an apology.”

“Now, Mr Parker, if there is anyone here who should apologise, it would not be you.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” He looked at her, astonished.

“Because in large part, any liberties taken were entirely my fault.”

He was taken aback. “But as a gentleman, it is my duty to retain control, and I failed miserably on that front.”

She smiled, leaning her forehead to his. “Do go on.”

“Charlotte, I am trying to be serious,” he said, his tone lowering. 

“I know that you are, Mr Parker, but you must also realise there were two parties involved in the decisions that were made, and that perhaps mine were as reckless as yours.” She ran her hands along his neck, feeling his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips as he removed them, abruptly stepping away from her, attempting a safe distance.

“Charlotte, please, you must listen to me,” he said, his voice ragged and torn, and the atmosphere altered as his frustration filled the room. “I could never forgive myself if…” He turned away from her, facing the window, lifting his face to the ceiling, regaining what little control remained in him as he exhaled. “I could ruin you.” 

She halted, looking upon him, silence falling throughout the room, pressing upon them as Susan’s words returned to her mind. “We have to be careful,” she conceded.

“It isn’t just that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair as he paced about the room. “I find I have no semblance of control when you are near me. What happened yesterday - Charlotte, it cannot happen again in our situation.” He swallowed reflexively, stopping to meet her gaze.

She nodded, understanding, and yet her expression deceived her, conveyed the pain that she had begun to feel at his words, at what this meant if they didn’t succeed.

His head tilted sorrowfully in response. “The truth is - that I love you too much to put you into harm’s way. Please know - I couldn’t bear it if I had caused you to-” his voice broke as she walked toward him, approaching him slowly, her gaze constant as she stood next to him, in the very spot where she had moments ago sought him out on the street below. 

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers between his, causing him to erupt in joy and sorrow at once. “I missed you,” he whispered, nearly unable to emit the words. 

“And I you,” she said as together, they watched the afternoon crowds leisurely promenading through Berkeley Square. 

\----------

Susan smiled upon closing the library door, having attempted an entrance at a most inopportune moment. Charlotte and Mr Parker stood together, united in silence by the window, and she was fairly certain that they had been holding hands. 

“Milady, would you care for me to-” 

“Ah, no, that is quite all right, Bradford,” she said in little more than a whisper, deftly taking his arm to lead him away from the library. “It seems that my meeting with Mr Parker will last longer than we had anticipated. Perhaps you could inform the cook that we may have an extra guest for dinner this evening. I will handle the rest.” she said, raising her eyebrows ever-so-slightly at him.

“Indeed, I will inform them directly.” Bradford gave her a knowing glance.

“Thank you, Bradford,” she said, glancing up at his imposing figure, her eyebrow arched, “What would I do without you around?”

“With all due respect, Milady, you would very likely be in the direst of straits.”

“Yes,” she laughed, heartily, as they made their way along the corridor, “direst of straits, indeed.”


	20. Chapter 20

As afternoon led to evening, Susan’s invitation for Mr Parker to dine at Weston Place had been accepted, and she was encouraged to see that he had only taken the briefest of moments to deliberate before giving his answer.

In truth, she had anticipated that he might be so laden with guilt as to decline altogether. She had gathered that the two were involved in what would be deemed a more intimate encounter than a man who was engaged to another should have allowed himself, and knowing the ways of gentlemen, she rather expected him to retreat as a means to suppress his feelings - but she was pleased and admittedly relieved to see that for the moment at least, he had chosen a less conventional way forward. There was still time, she mused.

She had given them an additional quarter of an hour after leading Bradford away from the library, at which point, she finally entered the room, immediately taking note of their close proximity and deciding to say nothing about it. She had even pretended not to notice when they broke apart, their hands still entwined after all this time.

Susan had taken a seat in front of the fire, hoping that it may make them both more at ease, and gestured for them both to join her.

“Mr Parker, I hope that you are well this afternoon.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship, as well as can be expected.”

She nodded archly. “...and Charlotte has indicated to you the reason for my arranging this meeting today?”

“Yes, most adeptly,” he said, stealing a glance in her direction, and Susan could not help but notice how he looked at her - the yearning in his expression so apparent that it would not go unseen by anyone. _He was lost, indeed._

“Then I shall continue where she has likely left off,” Susan began, gaining their full attention.

“You see, Mr Parker, over the past several seasons, I have invested quite a substantial amount, if I do say so, in various ventures - one of them being the development of Brighton. My investments in numerous properties, in particular, have managed to secure additional funds that I have, for some time, been hoping to re-invest. Brighton has done very well, as you know.”

“Yes, I am very aware,” he said, looking marginally uncomfortable as he drummed his fingers upon the armrest, then leaned into it as if he were holding himself up, bracing himself for what was to come.

“The truth of the matter is that I was quite taken with Sanditon when I visited for the regatta, and I have a great interest in exploring the town further. From what I have seen, there is potential for growth in such a lovely destination.”

“Ye-”

“But then I got to thinking… You see, I believe that an investment such as this would not be worth my time, should I not have a guarantee of certain acquaintances joining me for the summer.”

“You speak of your London acquaintances, Ma’am,” Charlotte interjected, attempting to clarify.

“Yes, they would do...although I have another particular friend whom I would wish to visit the town in addition to the usual London set.”

“You speak of…”

“Yes, I believe we speak of the same.”

“And your...particular friend...might also have an interest in investing?” Sidney brought his knuckles up to his mouth, grazing them over his lips, back and forth, rapt with attention.

“Therein lies the question, Mr Parker. You see, I have known this friend for quite some time, and the best course of action to secure his interest is to first secure the interest of other prominent members of London society. Should word get around to him that a new destination had become fashionable, I believe that he would follow suit, and quickly.”

Sidney nodded, his face strained as he looked to Charlotte and then back to her. “Lady Worcester...if you don’t mind me asking..." he hesitated briefly, "...why would you wish to help me?”

“It is not only you that I wish to help, Mr Parker,” she said, glancing over to Charlotte.

“Now, I do believe that you and your brother have got yourselves into quite a mess, and though Charlotte is of the utmost importance to me, and her happiness even moreso, I will admit to also having some rather selfish reasons for pursuing the opportunities in Sanditon, one of them being to simply to prove to you and your brother the value that the women in your lives hold. We wish to come to your rescue, Mr Parker, but with the understanding that you will not, in future, dismiss the intelligence and capabilities of those closest to you.”

Sidney looked at her beseechingly, “Ma’am, I can assure you that I have never thought such a thing in my life.”

“You may wish to think that, Mr Parker, but I ask that you keep an open mind. This will be a group effort, but I would be remiss if I did not admit to wanting to prove a point.”

“And what are your terms, pray tell?”

“I am willing to invest £20,000 outright, with the understanding that you and Charlotte would manage the funds. Charlotte and I have developed a plan to secure further funds, which would involve drawing more visitors to the shores of Sanditon and convincing my connections in London to invest along with me.”

“Twe-twenty thousand pounds?” Sidney rubbed his hands over his eyes, covering his face for a moment before hunching over in his chair, his elbows resting briefly on his knees as he collected himself. “And...if we succeed in this plan of yours?”

She blinked, smiling as she shook her head in amusement. “Well then, Mr Parker, you would be free to marry the woman you love, which I am quite aware is not your current situation.”

Sidney avoided looking in Charlotte’s direction, visibly tense. “Your Ladyship, with all due respect, I don’t view it as quite that simple. It would create a scandal, to be sure.”

“Now, surely you must know what London society simply thrives upon.” She waved a hand, dismissively.

He quirked his eyebrows at her.

Susan returned his expression with a look of incredulity. “We cannot resist a bit of scandal, Mr Parker. You can look at my own life as evidence of that, and I am still standing quite tall, mind you.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Your Ladyship, if I may be so forward in present company as to elaborate further...” Lady Susan nodded, and he glanced at Charlotte uneasily.

“Go on, Mr Parker, we must have all of the details out if we are to seek a solution,” she smiled, attempting to comfort him.

He swallowed, nodded and continued, drawing in a breath in preparation, “The marriage settlement has been drawn and signed for months. The contract - it is solid, Your Ladyship. I have spent months searching for a loophole, some way to amend it, to do precisely what you and Charlotte are attempting and I fear there would be no way out that would prevent the loss of my fortune in its entirety.”

“Where there is a will, there’s a way, Mr Parker. Would you allow my solicitors to take a look at this settlement you speak of? I may offer myself as evidence of their discretion, and surely you know that my intentions are honourable.”

Sidney looked from Charlotte to Lady Susan and back again, perplexed. “Forgive me, Your Ladyship, but I find I must ask you again. _Why_ are you going to such lengths to fix a mistake that is not your own?”

Susan smiled, but for once, Sidney noticed that it did not meet her eyes. “Not everyone has the fortune to marry for love, Mr Parker. It is true that I have not known either of you for very long, but that does not mean that I don’t wish you both more happiness than I have had. If I might have the opportunity to put right a wrong, I will take it. We must fight for your happiness, for you very much deserve it, Mr Parker, as does Charlotte.”

They had ended their conversation with a reluctant agreement from Mr Parker, although she could not dismiss his air of finality regarding the settlement. What had Mrs Campion done to this man? She was cruel and vindictive, to be sure, but something else must be afoot.


	21. Chapter 21

By the evening's end, Charlotte was convinced that she had spent the majority of their time together observing a master at work. Lady Susan had outdone herself, having put Sidney at such ease in their company that by the time the dessert course had arrived, he was in the midst of telling stories of the previous summer. Susan was rapt with attention, properly shocked by Georgiana's situation and her rescue, of which she had asked to hear more about, and her hearty laugh filled the room upon hearing of Charlotte's determination to tag along at the _boarding house_. It was a measure of trust that Sidney would even consider revealing such information, and yet, Susan was perhaps among the most trusting people she had ever met. Charlotte interjected in various parts of his story but was in the same breath fascinated by his own version of the events that day, and before the story's conclusion, which she was relieved ended with Charlotte's meeting Susan for the very first time, she realised that she was witnessing a version of Sidney Parker that she had not yet seen, and found herself motionless in her chair at the luck of this discovery - overcome that she had the chance of it at all. 

Susan was kind enough to invite Sidney to join them for further conversation after dinner, but he made his apologies, insisting that he had trespassed on their kindness well enough and should get back to gather the proper documents to be reviewed. They agreed to meet during visiting hours the following day, and Susan wished him well.

“Bradford,” her voice rang out, and he entered the room directly as if he had been hovering just outside awaiting her call. “Mr Parker is set to leave for the evening, but I'm afraid that I may be in need of your assistance just now. Charlotte, would you be so kind as to show Mr Parker out?” she said, glancing subtly in Charlotte’s direction, giving her a slight nod. 

“Yes,” she spouted a touch too abruptly. “Yes, of course. Mr Parker?”

“Thank you, Miss Heywood,” he nodded politely from across the dining table and she thought how handsome he looked with candlelight dancing upon his brow, his cheekbone, the rest of his face in shadow. 

Her breath hitched as he moved toward her, the light moving with him, highlighting nose and jawline, his eyes taking shape and colour as he approached her.

“Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the door.

“Ah...yes,” she responded, shaken from her trance, a slight blush appearing upon her cheeks. “Follow me, Mr Parker.”

Charlotte sensed him behind her as they stepped out into the hall, heard the sound of his boots upon the marble floor, could feel his proximity in every cell of her body as they walked the length of the seemingly endless corridor, passing by room after empty room. It was as they approached the entrance hall that she realised just how quiet Weston Place had become. It was unusually quiet - as if everything and everyone in the house had retreated; the calm before a storm.

She slowed her pace instinctively as their isolation became apparent to her, sensing his closeness behind her, feeling a prickling at the back of her neck, her breath catching at the thrill of it. She began to turn back to him, but he moved first, and she watched as he passed her by, extending a hand out behind him without breaking his stride, his palm open: an invitation. She accepted it, placing her hand upon his, and he led her not to the front door, but into the long-abandoned morning room. 

He guided her around the door, closing it until it was only just open. She saw him through a mere sliver of light as he met her eyes, their breathing equally rapid as they stood alone, shrouded in darkness.

He held her gaze as he lifted her hand, bringing his lips to each knuckle as he made his way across, lingering, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb as he lowered it. “Thank you, Miss Heywood” he whispered.

“What, for bringing Susan to your rescue?” she said, resorting to humour as she attempted to control her breathing.

“No,” he shook his head as if in slow motion, lips parted, “for making my life worth living again.” 

She lifted her hand and traced the sliver of light along his face with her fingertips, easing signs of the misery he had endured, listening to the sound of his breathing as he closed his eyes, conceding to his own thoughts as he moved forward. She could no longer see his face, but felt the brush of stubble upon her cheek as he kissed her there. Then slowly, hesitantly, his lips finally met her own and Charlotte thought only of the man before her, the darkness enveloping them as senses of sight and sound made way for touch and scent. 

\----------

“Mr Parker,” she said at last.

“Mmm?” he murmured, and she smiled against his mouth, somewhat amazed at her power over him.

“I thought that this was never to happen again,” she teased, brushing her nose to his, hovering, testing.

“Indeed, and this is evidence of that. I merely pulled you in here to kiss your hand, and now look at the state of me.”

"Well then, Mr Parker, I shall protect your virtue and see you safely to the door.”

“And cause me to miss out on celebrating the happiest day I have had in months with my beloved? I cannot allow it.”

She inhaled as he pulled her to him a second time, the scent of him clouding her mind into a haze, his lips eagerly exploring her own and she knew, even then, that she would forever recall how it felt to be embraced in the darkness by this man, his hope filtering into her body as their minds turned to the future, to possibility.

When they emerged from the morning room into the still deserted entrance hall, acting as if they had been halted at the door in polite conversation, anticipating the days to come, their expressions told a new story as Sidney reluctantly said goodnight. 

“Until tomorrow then, Miss Heywood,” he said, his eyes taking her in one last time as he backed away toward the door.

"Until tomorrow,” she echoed, unable to contain her smile.

  
\----------

Sidney Parker returned home at a brisk walk that evening, for Bedford Place was not far from Lady Worcester’s residence. His head spun almost happily with the events that had occurred - events which had managed to restore a kernel of hope within him in a matter of hours. How remarkable that a single day could produce such change.

He thought back to his hopeful parting with Charlotte, the way their senses had been amplified in the darkness, but it was their time standing before the window that afternoon which had truly convinced him that he must try everything in his power to keep her steady presence in his life and that if he failed, he may not survive the aftermath of such a loss. 

She was his final hope of happiness, and though he did not feel worthy of it, of her, he was beginning to realise that his presence could, in turn, bring her joy. He must try, he thought - if not for himself, he must try everything in his power for her.

It was with this renewed sense of purpose that he stepped through the entrance of Bedford Place, handing his hat and coat to Linton.

"Linton," he said in an almost jolly tone, "I feel as if I have been gone for days."

“Good evening, Sir,” said Linton, eyeing him cautiously. "And...how was the afternoon?"

"Quite fine, Linton, quite fine. I have been in receipt of the first bit of good news I've had in a while, and I find that it has rather altered my mood at present."

"Ah, well that is wonderful news, Sir. Wonderful news, indeed," Linton responded, turning away with Sidney's coat and hat in hand, and then paused.

“I...have left a letter upon your desk that you may wish to see, Sir,” and Sidney noticed immediately that Linton would not turn back to meet his gaze, choosing to inspect the marble floor instead.

He felt his heartrate slow ominously. “Ah, thank you, Linton. I...shall go directly,” he responded, the disappointment in his voice palpable enough to make Linton turn away even more.

"Very well, Master Parker," he said quietly, before continuing down the corridor.

Sidney stepped through the doorway to his study, noticing the familiar elegant hand that had written the address from across the room. " _No_. Please, no."

Within two strides, he had crossed over to his desk and opened the letter feverishly, scanning its contents like a man possessed and, defeated, dropped into the chair behind his desk, briefly intoxicated by the scent of Charlotte that wafted up to him upon his descent. He sat for a minute, then two, pondering what he had just read, attempting to reach some means of acceptance, but it would not come. He burst out of his chair, blind fury rising to the surface, and threw the letter upon the fire to watch it burn. She had embarked. Eliza was returning from Paris.


	22. Chapter 22

Charlotte was seated in the drawing room the following morning, book in hand as she stared at the fire in the grate, her legs twitching nervously yet again in anticipation of the arrival of Sidney Parker. Despite the amorous nature of their parting the prior evening, Charlotte had awoken that morning with a sense of unease weighing upon her, and it had proven to be unyielding. She had departed soon after breakfast for a brisk walk through Hyde Park, had hoped that it might lend some relief, and yet her anxieties had only increased in intensity as the clock ticked on. 

When Bradford approached the doorway and announced, “Mr Parker, Miss,” she stood almost reluctantly, watching Sidney enter the room, his impervious demeanour apparent as he walked over to greet her, a case in hand. 

“Miss Heywood,” he said in a low tone, a slight smile playing upon his lips, and yet not quite leading to his eyes.

“Mr Parker,” she responded. “Please, join me.”

He set his case upon a side table, Bradford having dismissed them entirely, and as he moved closer, she scrutinised his posture, the tension in his shoulders evident to her upon closer inspection. “Something has happened...hasn’t it,” she murmured.

He looked disconcerted as he sat in the chair adjacent to hers. “And what makes you say such a thing?” 

“I may not have known you for very long, Mr Parker, but it does not mean that I don’t know you well, especially when you are angry with me.”

“I am by no means angry at you, Miss Heywood,” his eyes softened, and he lowered his gaze toward his lap in thought, “but...there is something that has occurred...some news, which has been with me since yesterday evening.”

“Oh?” she swallowed, the sense of unease growing within her, evolving into something resembling dread.

He continued to look at his hands, picking at his fingers - a habit that she could not recall. “It seems,” he said as if testing the waters, “that a certain Mrs C has decided to return from Paris earlier than planned.”

“How soon?” Charlotte asked, her heart thumping in her chest.

“I fear that she may be back within the week,” he said, his head nearly falling into his hand as he massaged his temple. It was then that she noticed he hadn’t slept, and before she was aware - before she reconsidered the fact that they were in broad daylight with servants walking the corridors and appearing at every turn, she leaned forward in her chair and reached her hand to cover his on the armrest. He met her eyes quickly, and at last, she saw the sorrow in them.

“Charlotte,” he breathed, “...what if I lose you all over again?” His anxiety was palpable, and she found that she hesitated, considering fully what it might do to both of them were they to fail. 

“Then...we both take comfort in the fact that we had some time together, even if it wasn't a lifetime,” she said, raising his chin with her fingertips until he met her eyes once more. “I shall consider myself lucky to have had even a day with you, and that alone will bring me strength.”

He nodded, his eyes beginning to well over, and she garnered the resolve from within to remain steady, “I hope you know-” he cut off suddenly, breathing in, “that you have been the greatest joy of my life.”

“Even through our quarrels?” she asked, smiling, and he emitted a noise intended as laughter, yet he was not successful in disguising the misery from it.

“Especially our quarrels,” he responded, shaking his head as if in disbelief, “I have never been more attracted to and angry at someone in the same breath.”

“Nor I, Mr Parker...and I could not say with any conviction that I did not enjoy them, too.”

He smiled, wiping at his eyes, “I knew from the very moment we parted that I had to find a way out - that I would never forgive myself if I hadn’t tried.”

She nodded, remembering their parting on the clifftop, the surge of hope she felt as he stopped the carriage, and the disappointment that soon followed. She had felt as if she would not survive it.

“And have you been searching ever since?” she asked, genuinely curious about his answer.

He hesitated for a moment, pondering something that she couldn’t quite make out. “I admit to searching every day that I have been of sound mind...and yet, I found that I had been looking in the wrong place. I knew it instantly upon seeing you again. In a mere moment, you reminded me of exactly why I must find a way, as if by just catching sight of you, I was able to focus a mind that had become scattered and desperate.”

Charlotte looked away to the fire for a moment, deliberating, “And yet, I find that there must be more to this,” she ruminated, turning back to him, “tell me what she has done to you.” 

“What is your meaning?”

“She has changed you, altered you from the man I knew, and yet, I can’t quite place what it might be.” 

He stood, walking toward the fireplace, needing to move. “Of that, I have no wish to discuss, Miss Heywood. It is better left alone, at least for now.”

“Why will you not at least share what is on your mind? Something is bothering you, Sidney. I can see it, clear as day, and yet you will not tell me.”

He rested an arm upon the mantle. His breathing had increased and he gave her such a look of internal anguish that she found she could not move, and instead sat frozen in place, anticipating that he was, indeed, about to share some news that was far greater than anything she might have imagined. And then he shook his head, a few quick motions as if to ward off whatever it was. He looked at the fire in the grate. “No, Charlotte.” He spoke softly as if he were relenting to a greater, more powerful voice within his own mind, “I have no wish to burden you with matters of the past when the present is pressing as it is. Not now, at least.”

Charlotte looked at him, confusion and frustration written across her face. “But Sidney-”

“Ah, Mr Parker!” Susan’s cheerful voice rang across the drawing room, and they both reacted as if she had shouted the words. She paused for a moment in her path to them, adjusting to the mood of the room, and lowered her volume ever-so-slightly in response. “Thank you so much for coming. I believe that my solicitor is on his way as we speak. Bradford will notify us when he arrives, but in the meantime, why don’t I order us some tea, perhaps?”

They looked at her in a daze, the weight of the world upon their shoulders and no means of relief within sight.


	23. Chapter 23

Three days later, Linton appeared in the doorway of Sidney’s study, shuffling into the room with a hesitancy that was very unlike him. “Mrs Campion has come to call, Sir,” he said in the monotone voice he often used with visitors he rather disliked.

Sidney, bedraggled in a rumpled shirt and waistcoat he hadn’t changed in two days, allowed a sigh of undisguised disappointment to escape his lips before he was even aware of it, and Linton froze, moving nothing but his eyes off to the side as if he were attempting to look over his own shoulder, and Sidney clenched his teeth, waiting. “Thrilled that your fiancée has returned, I see.” said the unmistakable voice of Eliza Campion. 

“Eliza,” he said coolly, unable to feign politeness, “returned from Paris, and so soon. I hadn’t been expecting you for some time.”

“Yes, I most certainly have,” she said, stepping past Linton into his study. Sidney observed Linton take off down the hall, not even bothering to glance back. What he wouldn’t give to trade places with the man.

“Let me guess,“ he said, propping his boots upon the desk, “you spent nearly half of your fortune on a wedding neither of us cares about in order to impress members of society who care nothing for you.”

She smirked at him, “I certainly spared no expense if that’s what you’re after.”

Sidney shook his head sarcastically, “Oh, it makes perfect sense, Eliza. Why not buy the perfect wedding after you bought the fiancé. Though, I rather wonder if the combined price of both might put us in the debtor’s prison after the dreaded occasion takes place.”

“Too far, Sidney. I would choose your words very carefully, or would you rather I pull my investments from your little speck of a town and send your brother and his family into ruin this very moment? I don’t think that’s how you would wish to proceed.”

“Interesting that you should broach the subject. Do you know, I had a letter from Mary while you were away that spoke of discovering an addendum to our contract - one that had been signed in my hand, according to her.”

Eliza smiled perniciously, “Your brother gave me the greatest assurance that he would look after it on your behalf.”

“Did you honestly think that you could trick me into thinking I signed such a document - the terms of which go against everything I stand for?”

“Trick you?” Her expression changed to one of mock innocence, “Why, I did nothing of the sort. You were still quite unwell during my visit, perhaps you aren’t remembering it as clearly as I, or Tom.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He acted as a witness, Sidney. Really, I’m surprised at you. You were quite awake when it happened, although granted you had a fever at the time. Perhaps it has altered your memory.”

Sidney swallowed, his expression turning dangerous as he removed his boots from the desk, leaning forward in his chair. “Make no mistake, Eliza, you dare to cross me-”

“Sidney, honestly, I don’t know what you are implying, but I have done no wrong in this.”

“Done no wrong?” He stood abruptly, “Holding me prisoner because you can? Is that not the worst thing you might have done to me.”

“Really, Sidney, you take this too much to heart.”

“I wish for you to set me free.” He slammed a fist down onto the desk in frustration. “Why you refused to merely invest, to help a family you had known most of your life, should be the greatest judge of your character, and yet you insist on imprisoning me, forcing me to lead a life I have no wish for.”

“You know that this is a business arrangement. What would I expect to receive in return if I merely helped your family?”

“The knowledge that a good deed was done for the sake of others, but I highly doubt you would understand such selflessness.” he said bitterly. “And yet I wonder why you would resign yourself to such a life of misery as awaits you now?”

For the first time that evening, he saw her expression falter, “I realise that you fancy yourself in love with that Heywood girl. I saw the way you looked at her, just as you used to look at me, and perhaps, over time, you will come around.”

He glared at her from behind the desk. “Eliza, you ruined my life once, do you really wish to do it again?”

“I waited for you for ten years, Sidney. I cannot just give you up. I will not entertain it.”

“And you would call this love? This  _ hatred _ between us?” 

She looked away quickly, stung by his words, “Perhaps not now, but it will come in time.”

“Eliza, what we had was a fleeting adolescent fancy. I can’t believe I spent so much time grieving over you, over what we lost when…”

“When what?”

He paused, “...when I have found something infinitely better.”

“Now we get to the quick of it,” she said, an evil gleam returning to her eyes. “I assume that you speak of your Miss Heywood.”

“No longer  _ my _ Miss Heywood, as it happens,” he said, “thanks to you, of course.”

“That is precisely why I have come to see you. As it turns out, I received a letter in Paris from Mrs Mullens of a most alarming nature.”

“What, did you miss a high society tea party again? How unfortunate, indeed.”

“ _ Mrs Mullens _ informed me that no other than Lady Worcester had invited a new companion to stay with her for the season who was rather taking London by storm, and imagine my surprise upon discovering that it was your Miss Heywood.”

Sidney stilled. “What is the purpose of this?”

“I’m not certain that, as your fiancée, I feel comfortable with you being in the same city as that girl, let alone in similar company. I have seen how besotted you are with her, and it would bring me nothing but embarrassment for others to see you with her.”

“And how am I to control such a thing?”

“You are to stay away from her. I will not allow you to go near her, Sidney, unless I am at your side.”

“Oh, this is a new level of ridiculous,” he shouted at her, “even for you, Eliza.”

“I’m merely protecting what is mine,” she said coldly, “and you will obey.”

"And if I don’t?”

“Then the addendum that Mary discovered holds. So, who will it be, Sidney? Your little farm girl or your own ward?”

Sidney stood abruptly, knocking a ledger book off his desk as he did so. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I most certainly would. It would be a pity to see Georgiana no longer in your custody - what would she think to know that you had signed her off to another? Did you not give her father your word that you would protect her? You speak of me imprisoning you, who knows what might become of her. Is she not the daughter of a slave?”

“You hateful woman,” he seethed.

“Careful, now,” she glared, “this situation of ours could get far worse before it gets better. Continue as you are, and your Miss Heywood will be next - and believe me, I know how to harm a young woman such as her. A young lady’s reputation is a very fragile thing. It wouldn’t take much effort to cause irreparable damage.”

Sidney swallowed, his ribs moving with such rapidity that he felt jolts of pain in areas he thought had fully healed. “For God’s sake, leave her alone.”

“Then, I believe we have reached an agreement.”

He glared at her, fuming, “We will not reach an agreement of any sort unless you give me your word.“ 

“As long as you stay away, there would be no need for me to be uncivil toward Miss Heywood,” she said, her tone as polite as ever as she adjusted her gloves. “But if you don’t, well, your Miss Heywood will have no more promise of a future than a common whore.”

“And Georgiana...if I stay away from Miss Heywood, you will leave her be.”

“As long as you obey, there will be no need to pursue it further.”

Sidney stood hunched over the desk, the papers below him going in and out of focus, feeling as if he were outside of his own body, looking down upon a man who had no choice left to him, but one. “...Then," he blinked rapidly, his mind going numb, "I will stay away.”

“Excellent, dear,” she said, moving to the door. “Now, I am off to prepare for the opera this evening. I shall send word of our next social engagement when you are required.”

He nodded, continuing to stare at the desk to avoid meeting her gaze, waiting silently until he heard her walk from the room, the front door closing a moment later.

Mind reeling, he walked over to pour himself a brandy, downing one, then two glasses in seconds and following it with a third. He stood, gripping the empty glass in his hand, tightening his grasp upon it, and found that he could not keep himself from screaming in anger as he threw the glass across the room against the far wall, hundreds of shattered pieces flying about the room. 

He hunched over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, his ribs aching more than ever now as his anger released in waves of anguish. He felt his mind losing its newfound clarity, spiralling into a panicked state as he absorbed what he had just agreed to do. How could he make any progress when he was no longer allowed to see the very woman who might help him out of this mess? 

He stood, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. He must find a way to communicate with her, a way that did not involve seeing her in the flesh, although at the moment, he felt he would sacrifice his own life to see her that evening. 

He strode to the bookcases in his study, shuffling through the books until he came to the very one, and sat down at his desk. Within the hour, he called Linton back to his study and noticed immediately that he approached with the same degree of hesitancy he had earlier. 

“She has gone of her own accord, Linton. And please,” he said, finally realising the state of the room, “don’t mind the glass. I will clean it up. It was my own doing, and I would not trouble you over it.”

“As you wish,” said Linton, bowing slightly, then he met his gaze, “A-are you quite all right?” 

“I would like for you to arrange a courier this very evening to deliver something to Lady Worcester’s address.”

“Indeed, Sir?” he asked.

“Yes, I had promised to lend her a book, and wish to have it delivered.”

“This evening?”

“Yes, this very evening, no later,” he said seriously.

“Certainly, we will arrange for it, Sir,” he said as Sidney handed him the book.

“Thank you, Linton. Now, if you could point me to the broom closet, I’m embarrassed to say I’ve quite forgotten where it is.”

\----------

“Charlotte?” 

Charlotte sat in Lady Susan’s library, a book in her hands, the firelight dancing upon the page as she read. “Yes, Susan?” she said, absently, still absorbed in the story.

“Were you expecting a book to be delivered by courier?” Susan walked into the library, holding a leather-bound volume. “We have just had a delivery from the Parker household, and I am all astonishment as to what it means.”

She reached her hand out for the book and Susan passed it to her. She smiled almost immediately. “It’s Heraclitus,” she murmured, running her hand across the front cover.

“Yes, still not quite on the same page, dear,” said Susan.

“I believe that there is at least a chance that this very book was sent for me. Mr Parker and I are both fond of Heraclitus, you see.” She looked up at Susan, delighted.

“Ah, I see,” Susan paused, “...do you think it strange that he would have it delivered so late in the day? Something doesn't feel right about it, is all.”

Charlotte thought back to the previous summer when she had delivered letters to Georgiana that had been hidden away between the pages of a book she carried with her. “Perhaps there is more to the message?” she asked, flipping through its pages, a hastily folded piece of paper making an appearance, and she smiled in delight as she opened it, her eyes scanning the page. 

Susan watched her, witnessing the moment of joyfulness transform to one of confusion and distress, “What is it?”

“He...cannot see me.” 

“Tomorrow?” she asked, hopefully.

“She has forbidden it,” Charlotte said in disbelief, “Susan, what are we to do now?” she said, tears blooming in her eyes as she handed the letter to her.

“Well,” she said upon seeing the letter with her own eyes, “I will say that your Mr Parker seems a very romantic sort. One of the many reasons why you are so taken with him, no doubt.”

Charlotte sat next to her as if in shock, “Now, now, dear. Don’t you fret. This simply says that she doesn’t wish for you to see him. There is nothing written about you communicating with him. I believe that your Mr Parker has devised a new way to do just that, and I happen to have a copy of a different volume of Heraclitus that we might send along to him in return.” she lifted an eyebrow as Charlotte nodded silently. 

“My dear, we both knew that obstacles would come. Allow them to light a fire within you, use them as fuel for our cause, for I am not about to give up just yet, and neither are you.” 

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Charlotte said, wiping away her tears. “I believe that I was foolish to think they may never come.”

“Not foolish, dear, merely hopeful, and there is nothing wrong with that,” she consoled, patting Charlotte’s shoulder. “Now, I will look about for that book, and why don’t you use my writing desk to draft a letter of your own. I must say, if a man declared his feelings to me in such an eloquent way, I would not hesitate to write him a letter he might cherish as much as I suspect you will cherish this.” 

Charlotte laughed, despite herself. “What would I do without you, Susan?”

“Oh, you would find a way, dear. Of that, I am certain.”


	24. Chapter 24

“He showed up after midnight?” 

“Redmond was certain we were being burgled. He hit him rather hard, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I can see. It is still rather swollen.”

“What do you think, my dear, should we call for a doctor?”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt. Who knows what extent his other injuries could have endured last night. Tell me, did he walk all this way?”

“From the sound of it, stumbled more like.”

“Babington?” Sidney Parker groaned as he rolled over onto his back, fully clothed up to his overcoat, his hat on the floor next to the bed he was currently laying upon. “Is that you? Where the bloody hell am I?”

“Yes, Parker, it’s me. You are at Worthing House. You...came of your own accord last night.”

Sidney brought a hand to his forehead, pinching his septum as he closed his eyes. He moved his hand lower upon his face and felt a sharp pain near his mouth.

“You split your lip, Parker. Or rather...Redmond did.”

“I was in a fight with your _butler_?” He tried turning his head to look toward the foot of the bed, and instantly thought better of it as the light from the window seared into his eyes.

“Well, sort of. He thought you were breaking into the house.”

“Sidney...is everything all right?” Esther’s voice washed over him.

“Esther…” he said, embarrassed, “I...am trying to…damn, now I bloody remember. Eliza.”

“Lord, what has that woman done now?”

“By this point, I have to ask myself what honestly she hasn’t done, but this was a new low, even for her. The long and short of it...she has forbidden me to see Charlotte and threatened my very future as Georgiana’s guardian if I do not comply,” he said, massaging his eyelids.

“What??” Babington’s voice rang through the room. “She has gone after your ward?”

“Yes, and according to her, I signed a document witnessed by my very brother while I was recovering at Trafalgar House, approving such an action to take place.”

“That is madness. You would never-”

“I know. And I will get to the bottom of it. I just need more _time_. And the only way to buy that time was to agree not to see Charlotte.”

“I always knew she was vile,” Esther fumed, “Did she not just return?”

“Yes, apparently she heard from _Mrs Mullens_ that Charlotte was Lady Worcester’s new companion and felt compelled to return to London without delay. It was only a matter of time. I only wish I had seen it coming. I did not think she would stoop so low, in all honesty.”

“Well, that rather justifies your state last night,” Babington responded in an uncharacteristically angry tone. 

“Just as everything was looking up, and now, thwarted once again,” he said miserably.

“This is ridiculous,” Esther spouted. “There must be something that we can do to help.”

“You have been kind enough to allow me to rest here, Lord and Lady B. I should be on my way. This blasted headache is unlikely to subside even a trifle while the sun is out.”

“No, you will not,” Babington said abruptly. “You will stay here. For a time, at least. Use our home as a hiding place, or whatever you require.”

“As much as I would love to, Babbers, I am to report to a near-constant stream of social events with Eliza as punishment.”

“This sounds dangerously like a tactic, Parker.”

“Right you are, but alas, she has me, caught in a net with no foreseeable way to get out of it. Though, I did manage to think of a way to send notice to Charlotte.”

“Writing her letters, are you?” Esther asked, curious.

“Something like that, yes. I only hope that she was able to find the message. Babbers...” he lifted his arm off the bed, “would you mind?”

Babington rushed over to him, putting an arm around his back to help lift him into a sitting position, and Sidney seethed in pain as he changed positions. 

“Are you not yet healed, Sidney?” Esther asked, a note of alarm in her voice. “Babington, I think we should arrange for the doctor.”

“What? No. I am quite all right. It pains me every morning, and besides, Linton has an eye on me as if I were his sole remaining heir,” Sidney protested.

“I don’t care,” Esther said quickly, “you might have been injured further last night without even realising. I shall call for Redmond....or perhaps...go to him.”

“Yes,” Babington nearly chuckled in response, “I would imagine he is rather embarrassed about last night.”

“No matter,” Sidney said, darting a glance at Esther. “Tell him I would have done the very same in his position, and while you’re at it, mention that he has an impressive right hook judging from the state of my mouth.”

As Esther left the room, Babington crouched down next to Sidney. “You know, Parker, we could also have Esther send for Miss Heywood. You might at least see her at Worthing House.”

Sidney smiled slightly, looking down at his feet, “Very kind of you, Babbers,” he said, “but I have no wish for her to see me in such a state. I fear she would never get this image of me out of her head were she to see it.”

“But surely she knows of your condition.”

Sidney had yet to look up from the floor. “I...have found it a difficult subject to broach while in her company.”

“Parker, you fool,” Babington said, his tone incredulous. “Why would you neglect to tell her such a thing? Wouldn’t she be better off knowing what happened?”

“Perhaps…” he started, “but I find that there is another part of me, some internal voice telling me that she would find a way to blame herself, were she to know when and how it happened...and that voice grows by the day.”

“But surely she will have to know one day? Parker, it will come out. You had best be the one to tell her before it does.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” he said, almost annoyed, “and I will. I just have to find the right time, is all, and so far we are either arguing or interrupted or-”

“No need to share the details, old friend. I have seen first-hand how you look at one another. I’m surprised that you can even speak in her presence.”

Sidney grinned at the thought, and then winced from the pain. Babington could not contain his own laughter. “Careful, now, any more splitting open of that lip and Dr Carmichael will have to stitch you up, and I believe you have been stitched together quite enough for one year.”

“Quite right,” he said quietly, "and, if it all works out, I can't help but think I would have endured far worse for such an outcome."

"I know exactly how you feel, and we will find a way."

Sidney nodded absently, his mind moving on to other thoughts. “...Babbers...how am I to get out of this?”

“Well, to start, you are going to allow Dr Carmichael to examine you. He is the best doctor in Mayfair.” Babington looked at him sternly. “Then, assuming that you have not doomed yourself to a life of frailty with the many rash decisions that were made last night, you will call upon your friends.”

“I have no wish to trouble you.”

“And I don’t give a damn about it. Tell me, were I in the very same position, what lengths would you have gone to help me?”

Sidney remained silent for a moment, contemplating.

“You have to find a way to swallow your _pride_ , Parker. It is only a hindrance now.”

\----------

Later that day, after Dr Carmichael had come and gone, and Esther and Babington insisted that he rest further before even entertaining the thought of leaving Worthing House, Sidney finally rose from their guest bed, donned his overcoat and hat, and after thanking his hosts profusely, stepped out onto the streets of Mayfair, bound for Bedford Place.

As he crossed the street, dodging the afternoon crowds on the sidewalk, content for once to progress at a slightly slower pace, he recalled something else of the night before; something he hadn’t shared with anyone - a faint memory of standing across the street from Weston Place, watching the glow of candlelight flicker in the windows, snuffed out one by one, wondering which belonged to Charlotte.


	25. Chapter 25

Sidney stole quietly through the front door of Bedford Place, closing it carefully to avoid the echoing effects that the door latching often produced in the marbled entrance, and proceeded down the corridor that led to his study, moving silently, deliberately.

“Where have you been, Master Parker?”

He jumped. “Linton, I...was not expecting you.”

“And yet, I have been pacing these very halls all morning wondering where you have gone off to.” Sidney could hear the irritation in his voice - something that he rarely revealed to anyone.

“Linton-”

“I understand my role, Master Parker, I do. But, it is very uncharacteristic of you to just disappear from this very house, as of late.”

“I just needed some time to _think_. That is all,” Sidney responded, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he turned to face his butler. He was met with a scrutinising eye.

Linton approached him, placing a finger under his jaw to lift his face up to the light. “Have you been _fighting_?” he asked, appalled. “That is not a good practice for someone in your condition.”

“I can assure you, it was merely the result of a misunderstanding. I am not foolish enough to risk that degree of injury.” 

“Hmmm…” He zeroed in on the damage along Sidney’s jawline, “I shall call for a bath to be drawn, directly. You’ll want to look better off than you do now for your engagement this evening.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, apologies for my frankness, Master Parker, but you look nothing short of a fright,” Linton said, with not the least bit of an apologetic expression. 

“Honestly, the more frightful I look,” he muttered, “the better, in my opinion.”

“All the same, I have been tasked to look after you, and that I shall. Go on, off with you.”

“...Right…” Sidney said, looking longingly at the door to his study, his heart beginning to pound in anticipation. “I might just…” he gestured to the study door, and Linton shook his head.

“If you go in there, Master Parker, you will not come out again for some time. Now, I expect that you will rest after you have been cleaned up, and while you do…” Linton walked into the study, and moments later returned, “...you might wish to look this over.”

Sidney took the object from his hands. “...Heraclitus.”

“Delivered just this morning, from Weston Place,” Linton said with a twinkle in his eye. 

Sidney looked down at the book in his hands, conflicted. “Linton...could I ask a favour?”

“Certainly.”

“I need to locate the address of Charles Bicknell in Chancery Lane.”

Linton stared back at him, flummoxed. “Pardon…” he said, tilting his head as if the very thought was weighing him down, “but, you wish to locate the address of _the_ Charles Bicknell?”

“Yes, I...have a matter to discuss with him. A rather discreet matter, as it happens.”

“...a matter to discuss with Charles Bicknell?” he asked, his expression one of suppressed shock and, despite his attempts to hide it, blatant curiosity.

“Yes, I wish to know only his address for now. I will contact him directly when I have it, and please, alert me at once when you do,” he said as he turned away from his butler, book in hand, his overcoat sweeping behind him as he walked toward the grand staircase of Bedford Place. 

\----------

  
  


Charlotte and Lady Susan arrived fashionably late to Mrs Tinsley’s rout that evening, having exhausted themselves earlier discussing at length just how to proceed with their plan now that Eliza was back and unpleasant as ever, and deciding, in the end, to continue for as long as they were able - but alas, as the evening hours approached, duty called, and Susan had been expected to make an appearance. 

The evening was unseasonably cold, and Charlotte was grateful that Martha had insisted on sending her off in winter attire. The cold air seeped relentlessly through her gloves as the carriage navigated the streets of London at a snail’s pace, her fingers gradually succumbing to numbness, her nose following soon after. 

Mrs Tinsley’s home was crowded, the candlelit rooms and roaring fires in every hearth lending an ambience that hinted at what winter in London must be like. She circulated through the various rooms on the ground floor, seeking out the warmth of a hearth, occasionally greeting acquaintances as she moved through the throng, and for the very first time since arriving in London, she found that a great deal of the faces she encountered had become familiar to her. 

She stepped away from the overcrowded drawing room where Susan spoke animatedly with an old friend - yet another face who had surfaced in the sea of London’s elite - moved past a heated game of billiards, and at last, sought solace in the library. 

She had managed to locate the library in every home she had visited in London, taking note of who had the finest collections, the rarest volumes on display; which had been designed for a genuine love of books, and which purely for presentation or status. At first glance, Mrs Tinsley’s library looked untouched and unread as she made her way along the edges of the room, her eye catching titles as she went - many that she noted to investigate further once her hands had been sufficiently warmed. 

The light of the fire caught her eye at last, and relieved, she walked eagerly toward it, passing by one circle of partygoers after another until the fireplace was in full view. She felt its heat as she approached, her hands still chilled to the bone as she edged around the furniture to join the figure that stood alone, huddled near the hearth. 

The gentleman turned to look into the flames, bracing a hand upon the mantle. He stared absently as if in a trance, a glow dancing upon his profile as if he were lit from within, and she stopped in her path, her breath catching in her throat as she took a step forward, instinctively moving toward the man she was not supposed to see. Her mind intervened to prevent her from taking another. 

He turned, shifting his gaze as if he could sense her proximity, recognition dawning as he made her out in the candlelight. His hand dropped from the mantle as his body straightened to attention, a pained look of apology written across his face as he shook his head, discreetly darting one last glance in her direction before lowering his gaze back to the fire. 

As Charlotte rushed from the room, an overwhelming sense of rejection overtaking her, the image of him became clearer in her mind - jaw bruised, lips swollen and cut - and as she increased the distance between them, moving aimlessly from room to room, her mind wished for nothing more than to discover the cause.

\----------

“So, that’s how it is to be now, is it?” Susan asked nonchalantly after the carriage door had closed.

“Yes,” Charlotte murmured blankly, looking away. “Yes, I suppose it is.”


	26. Chapter 26

Mary heard the familiar shout from the front entrance of Trafalgar House as she and Georgiana were wrapping up their final day of document review. He had returned far earlier than expected, and her heart jumped into her throat of its own accord. Georgiana responded similarly, leaping up from her chair, feverishly beginning to pile up the documents she had been working through, until Mary caught her eye. “Georgiana. It’s all right. We must come clean.”

Georgiana froze, a letter in hand. “Mary…”

“You are dismissed for the day if you would rather stay out of this. It may be for the best.”

“But-”

“It’s all right. Truly,” she nodded at Georgiana calmly, resignedly. “We must get to the bottom of this, and he will know more than we are ever able to find.”

“...Right,” she said apprehensively. “Well, then I suppose I shall wait for you to call for me tomorrow? If you require more assistance, that is.”

“Always, dear. I don’t know how I could get through my day without you,” Mary smiled affectionately at her companion.

“Well...then I suppose I wish you luck,” said Georgiana, not in a state to respond with many words just at that moment.

“Thank you, dear,” Mary whispered as Tom burst into the study.

“What...what is...” he asked, stopping mid-step, a look of bafflement upon his face.

“Wish Georgiana a good afternoon, Tom,” Mary said.

“Good afternoon,” he murmured, bewildered, as Georgiana exited the room. “Mary, what is th-”

“Sit down, Tom.”

“But I-”

“I said SIT. DOWN.” 

He looked about the room, as if there might have been a chance she had been speaking to one of the children, and then obeyed, sitting upon the chair that Georgiana had just vacated. “Right…” he said, and swallowed nervously, looking as if he were awaiting a punishment.

Mary stood from her own desk, opened a side drawer and pulled out the letter that Georgiana had discovered the week before. She walked over to him and placed the document upon the desk. “ _Explain_ yourself,” she said, her tone livid.

He looked up at her, his eyes devoid of any semblance of guilt as he reached for the papers. He opened them and read, glancing up at her as he progressed, and then, upon reaching the document itself, his eyes became glued to the paper, moving more rapidly, astonishment crossing his face as he noted his very signature at the bottom. His jaw had dropped in shock as he lowered the paper to the desk. “I-I...Mary, I have never seen this in my life...where did you-”

“It was in a stack of papers in this very office, Tom. Try again.”

“Mary, you must believe me, I would never-”

“Look at the signature. Is it not yours?”

“Yes, I admit it does look like mine, but...I would not have signed a document such as this. _Sidney_ would not have signed this, and yet his name is upon it as well.”

“Tell me, Tom - when Mrs Campion came to visit during Sidney’s recovery, what was discussed during your time with her? I know that you did spend some time with her in your study, going over plans for the new terrace, was it not?”

“Yes, yes I showed her the plans and then she had-” He froze. 

“She had what?”

“It was only a small stack of papers - insurance, contracts for suppliers, the sort of thing that Sidney would bring from London, but he was so ill…”

“And you _signed_ them blindly?” Mary seethed, controlling her instinct to shout, to hit, to storm out of the very room.

“I-I had just shown her the plans, Mary, and she was very approving, very approving indeed of them. She would never-”

“If you knew that woman at all, Tom, you would never underestimate precisely what she is capable of. She is not to be trusted, and if I have my way with her, she will never come near the Parker family again.”

“But Mary, we are quite out of options. We will be ruined.”

“Which,” she sighed in resignation, “is why I must go to London, after all.”

“To - to London?” Tom looked as if he were about to faint in his chair. 

“Someone must make an attempt to fix this mess you’ve made, and right now, you are the very last person I would choose for the job.”

“Mary, I know that I have made mistakes, I have, but you must trust me. I would never do such a thing to Sidney, or his ward.”

“Her name is _Georgiana_ , Tom, and she has been more instrumental in helping your brother than all of you Parkers combined.”

“Please, Mary, allow me to-”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m going alone.”

\----------

  
  


The Parker carriage bounced along the cobblestone side streets of London, moving rapidly enough to catch the attention of passersby, sending page boys darting out of the way, and yet neither baker nor clerk could quite place who might be inside or, indeed, why they were in such a hurry, for the carriage itself remained unmarked and featureless, indistinguishable from any other in the city. A knock came from the carriage body as they neared their destination, and the driver halted the horses abruptly outside an equally nondescript building, marked only by a worn wooden sign, its hinges creaking in the breeze.

A black-clad figure emerged from the carriage, signalling briefly to the driver to leave, and walked brusquely to the entrance of the offices of Charles Bicknell, Esq. The door opened as if of its own accord as he approached it, and he froze, mid-stride. 

“Mr Parker, I presume?” A gentleman, short and squat, stood in the doorway, blocking his path, and Sidney Parker glanced over his shoulder, taking stock of his surroundings.

“Yes...I have a meeting with Mr Bicknell,” he said quietly.

“Precisely, Sir,” the man said, and moved to make room for Sidney to pass.

Sidney looked him up and down suspiciously, then finally stepped across the threshold. The man closed the door quickly after he was through, and promptly bolted it.

Sidney spun around at the sound, his heart beginning to pound apprehensively. “What is the meaning of this?” 

But the man's gaze had become fixed on something else in the room, and he did not answer.

“Mr Parker," said a voice behind him, and he turned. "We’ve been expecting you.”


	27. Chapter 27

Charlotte had been alone in the drawing room at Weston Place for nearly an hour. Susan’s copy of _Cecelia_ remained open in her lap, the same page catching the breeze from the window above her. She had found the fire suddenly far too warm that afternoon, and her longing for fresh air had grown to such a degree that she began to long for a walk. 

Snapping the book closed, she stood, deciding that perhaps some time outdoors might lift her spirits, even though Green Park was rather busy at this time of day. Book in hand, she stepped out into the grand entrance of Weston Place, and proceeded to the staircase. The doorbell sounded as her foot landed upon the first step, and Bradford, in his usual fashion, appeared out of nowhere to attend to the door.

“Apologies, Ma'am, but Her Ladyship is not at home,” she heard Bradford say as she hesitated upon the stairs, her curiosity getting the better of her, then rotated around to see if she could make the visitor out, stepping back down toward the entrance.

“Well then, perhaps you might tell me if Charlotte is in? She is a dear friend.” 

Bradford hesitated, knowing well enough that Charlotte was only feet away, and she became rooted where she stood, catching sight of a flash of feathers, a blue silk pelisse - wanting nothing more than to run away, and yet, her feet would not move beneath her.

“Is that not Charlotte upon the stairs, just behind you?” said the voice, and Charlotte came to, blushing from head to toe at being discovered so easily, at already having been bested by her.

She breathed in, meeting Bradford’s gaze as he looked helplessly back at her, and nodded. 

“Indeed, Ma’am,” he said, “allow me to escort you to the drawing room.”

\----------

“What is this?” Sidney uttered, his body tensed, ready to react.

A man stepped forward from the shadows, white hair swept back, his large eyes fixed upon Sidney. “You are here for an appointment, are you not?" the man said in a gruff, gravelly voice. "Charles Bicknell, at your service, Sir.”

“And would you mind telling me why you have locked the bloody door?” he asked, attempting to catch his breath.

“If you haven’t noticed, this is not usually where I meet clients, Mr Parker - that is, except for a select few. As for the lock, I can assure you that it is not meant to keep you in - it is to keep others out.”

“And why would you go to such lengths for a meeting with a man such as myself? I am not the Prince Regent.”

“No," Mr Bicknell said, eyebrows raising in amusement. "No, you most certainly are not. Come, come,” he motioned for Sidney to follow. “You will see soon enough. We have much to discuss, Mr Parker, and rather regrettably, I do not have a moment to spare...thanks, in part, to the very man you speak of.”

Sidney took one last glance at the man by the door, silently weighing his options, and hat in hand, he turned to follow Mr Bicknell.

\----------

“Mrs Campion...h-how are you?” Charlotte winced at the quiver in her voice.

She simpered smugly in response as Charlotte sat upon the very edge of the sofa across from her. “I am an engaged woman, Miss Heywood. Of course, I am well. Tell me, do you know where your host is this afternoon?”

“She went out,” Charlotte said, “A dress fitting.”

“Ah, I see,” said Eliza, her eyes wandering about the room. “Well, no matter. As it happens, _you_ were the person I had intended to see all along.”

“ _You_ wished to see me?” said Charlotte, sceptically, the sense of unease growing rapidly within her. 

"Yes, and believe me, I plan to make this visit very brief.” She looked directly at Charlotte, her expression turning in an instant. “You see, Miss Heywood, I saw you the other evening, at Mrs Tinsley’s rout.”

“Well, then I’m surprised you did not say hello if you saw me,” she said, feigning innocence, hoping that it would be enough to quell the storm that was about to hit.

"Oh, Miss Heywood, I suggest you refrain from that sort of act until you have learned how to do it properly," Eliza laughed, a nefarious glint in her eye as she met Charlotte's gaze. “If you will not own up to it, then perhaps I must be clearer. I speak of your encounter with Sidney. I will admit that the expression upon your face was very sweet, but not one that I would recommend using near another woman’s intended.”

“I was merely searching for the warmth of a hearth, I assure you,” Charlotte said, defensively.

“And how, may I ask, am I expected to believe such a thing?” 

“I have no wish to tell you what to believe, Mrs Campion.”

“Oh, you poor girl,” said Eliza, “I still don’t think you quite understand. You see, if you continue to embarrass me as you did the other night, I will do whatever it takes to make certain that you are never seen in London again.”

Charlotte could feel her heart pounding, could almost hear it as she fought to control her breathing, to refrain from revealing to this woman just how much she was affecting her. What she wouldn’t give for Susan to burst in at that very moment, but for the first time, she was not there to rescue her.

\----------

Sidney’s heart was pounding at an alarming rate. The walls of the narrow corridor had begun to close in on him as his mind whirled with possibilities. Very few had a positive outcome. Why had he been led to a building that appeared to have been long abandoned? And yet, he followed the man who claimed to be Mr Bicknell, walking behind him down a dark corridor to God knows where. 

At the very least, there was little chance that the gentleman before him could best him in a fight. He was not an inch taller than the man who had answered the door and at least twenty, possibly even thirty years his senior. And yet, the question remained, looming over him. Who else was waiting for them, wherever they were headed? 

“Ah, Mr Parker, I believe that we have reached the rest of our party, at last,” Mr Bicknell said, standing to the edge of a doorway. “After you.”

\----------

“Do you mean to threaten me, Mrs Campion?” Charlotte asked at last.

“Threaten you?” she asked in a tone of amusement, “Oh, I don’t just mean to threaten, Miss Heywood. When will you realise that I will do whatever it takes to protect what is mine?”

“And what if I told you that I haven't even the slightest desire to stay in London?”

“Then I would call you out on your falsehood. You forget, Miss Heywood, that I was once in the very same position as you.”

“No, _Sidney_ was once in the very same position.”

Mrs Campion laughed, “Oh, I can assure you that I had the worse end of it. Women always do. You see, Miss Heywood, I know what it is to be young and admired by Sidney Parker. But what you have yet to realise is that if the tables were turned, someday you would be exactly where I am now, watching him stare at another.”

“He is not that sort of man, and if you think it, then you don’t know him in the least.”

“Oh, I don’t just think it, Miss Heywood, I have lived it. And it would seem that I must point out what you have yet to see - that you have lived it as well. Has he not already cast you aside for me?”

\----------

Sidney stepped into a lavishly decorated study, a large desk at one end and a roaring fire surrounded by ornate furnishings at the other. 

“Now, Mr Parker,” said Mr Bicknell behind him, “I believe that you are already acquainted with our other guests.”

Sidney looked at him quizzically, then noticed that Mr Bicknell’s gaze was focused on the chairs near the fire. 

“Mr Parker, you’ve arrived at last,” said the first voice. 

“I hope we haven’t alarmed you,” said the second.

“What?” Sidney looked between them. “What on earth are you...How did you-”

“I have my informants, Mr Parker,” said the first guest, glancing behind him, "Mr Bicknell and I are well acquainted, as you know." 

“And I have brought something that you may wish to look over yourself,” said the second. 

“Is it the-”

“Yes, the very same.”

He walked over for a closer look at the document he had no memory of signing. “And you knew of its existence as well?” he asked the first guest.

“Oh, Mr Parker,” her laughter rang throughout the room, “Yes, you might say I had knowledge of it. After all, that very document was my idea from the start.”


	28. Chapter 28

“It was...what?” Sidney cried, his voice amplified in the small space by the fire.

“Yes," said Lady Susan with a slight smile. "You know I cannot resist a scheme when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Sidney,” said Mary, seated across from her. “Come, there is much to explain.”

“You willingly endangered the life of my ward for a scheme?” he said through gritted teeth, fury brewing within him at an alarming rate.

“Oh, dear mercy,” Mr Bicknell said behind him, and Sidney glanced over in time to witness him wiping his forehead nervously with a kerchief. “Perhaps, we might all discuss this further while seated. Mr Parker, if you will.” He motioned to the empty chairs.

“Sidney,” said Mary, “Calm yourself, and sit down. There is far more to the story than what you are thinking at present.”

“I’ve no doubt there is. But perhaps you might start by telling me how you have been plotting behind my back when one of you has been in Sanditon and the other in London?” Sidney seethed.

“Sometimes I wonder whether men truly understand a thing in this world,” Susan mused. “If you think letter writing is merely a frivolous activity designed to keep us entertained, I urge you to think again, Mr Parker. We have been writing since the very evening of your injury, the very day of your parting with Charlotte, and we have been planning for just as long.”

“Sidney, while I was at home...that day...I discovered a letter addressed to Charlotte in our post. The letter was from Susan, and I knew - almost instantly, that I had to contact her, that she would be able to help put this all to rights.”

“I assure you, Mr Parker, that endangering the wellbeing of Miss Lambe was the very last thing on my mind when I mentioned the idea during a conversation with Mrs Mullens,” said Susan.

“Eliza’s friend, Mrs Mullens?” Sidney had begun to pace about the room, no longer able to stay still as he anticipated what was to come.

“Yes, the very same. You see, Mrs Mullens is a notorious gossip, and I knew that she would relay anything I said to Mrs Campion.”

“And what did you suggest she do?”

“You know as well as everyone else in the room that a woman’s fortune becomes the possession of her husband the moment they are married. I merely suggested that perhaps portions of the marriage settlement could be revised to offer the lady of the house a bit more freedom, and that it might even be done in so discreet a way as to avoid the notice of her betrothed, altogether. I had no idea that she would take the very idea and run with it. Honestly, I should have known better than to underestimate her vindictive qualities.”

Sidney ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “You did-" he stopped, feeling as if he had to catch his breath. "Why would you suggest such a thing?”

“Because," said Lady Susan, remaining composed, "in order to revise the settlement without your knowledge, Mrs Campion would have to commit an actionable offence. The document in Mrs Parker’s possession is proof that she went to even greater lengths than I anticipated.”

He looked back and forth between them, bracing a hand upon the back of Mary’s chair briefly to stabilise himself, then deciding the better of it, he moved to the empty wingback chair next to the fire. “Now, tell me, Lady Worcester-”

“Please, call me Susan,” she interjected, smiling comfortingly at him.

“...Susan,” he said, closing his eyes and squeezing his septum to relieve the pressure. “How could we possibly catch Mrs Campion in the act of committing a crime if the document is already in existence?”

“There is no need to catch her in the act, Mr Parker,” she smiled, “because Mr Bicknell and I have already arranged it.”

Mr Bicknell chimed in at this, “Yes, a rather brilliant idea from Lady Worcester, I must admit. We were able to compile enough evidence to trace the forged document back to Mrs Campion herself. Eyewitness statements, accounts of her own footman entering and leaving the establishment of a known forger with the document in hand, and, thanks to a member of Lady Worcester’s own staff, admission from the footman himself of what he was tasked to do. That, combined with accounts from you and your brother, denying that you signed the document would be enough to put a great deal of fear in any guilty party. You do know that the standard penalty for forgery is hanging, do you not?”

“Of course I do, but-” he dithered, looking down at his hands in his lap, “I would not wish that sort of punishment on my worst enemy.”

“I admit that the evidence would produce a far more severe case than we ever thought possible," said Mr Bicknell.

He hesitated. “Mary...what would you do?”

She had been wringing her hands, and looked up, startled, “I-I am not gifted at this sort of thing, Sidney.”

“And yet I value your opinion above all else at this moment.”

She looked into the fire, deliberating silently, sorting her thoughts, “Use it if you must...but if it were me, I could not willingly be so harsh, even if someone had been equally as harsh with me. You have your evidence for protection, should she try anything, and that alone will keep Georgiana safe.”

Sidney followed her gaze, staring at the hearth, nodding absently. 

“Mr Parker, if I may,” said Mr Bicknell, “this situation may be a means of lending you a bit of leverage, at least for now. Your ward will remain safe, no matter what.”

“What is your meaning?”

“Well, I am told that she has nearly reached the age of twenty, is that correct?”

“Yes, she has.”

“And, in the eyes of the Court of Chancery, she is old enough to have at least some say in who her guardian may be until she becomes of age.”

“She would have a choice?”

“Yes, she would, and from what I have deemed from Mary’s descriptions of her, she would be very unlikely to go with the alternative,” Mr Bicknell’s eyes twinkled. “Mr Parker, Miss Lambe will not be harmed in this. I can assure you of that.”

Sidney felt as if he could breathe more freely at his words, but there was still something else that weighed upon his chest. “And what of Charlotte?”

Mary and Susan looked at each other, hesitating. “For that,” Susan said cautiously, “we are going to need more information about what, exactly, Mrs Campion's terms were to keep you apart.”

“The document stands if I am to continue seeing Charlotte, which it seems we have a solution for. But she has threatened to destroy Charlotte's reputation...to ruin her so severely that she would never marry, never be accepted in society.”

Susan scoffed. “Always empty threats with that woman. What influence does she have that I cannot rise above?”

“But she is vicious, Susan,” Sidney responded. “She will not back down and she will persist in harming Charlotte in whatever way she can until she knows she has won.”

“And we are not ready for you to end it, altogether?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Sidney, you know we never wished for you to be harmed in this, or Charlotte, and if I have any say, you have quite suffered enough for all of us,” Mary said, “Please, if it is a matter of your happiness, end it now. We will manage the fallout, one way or another.”

“No,” Sidney said, resolute, “I will not see you harmed, Mary, not after all you’ve been through with Tom. This can still be fixed.” He sat back in his chair, elbows upon the armrests on either side, contemplating. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked, at last, looking beseechingly at Mary, “about all of it.”

She tilted her head, and smiled, “Because, dear, I did not believe you would allow it to continue. Not then. Not in the state you were in.”

“Sending me to London...the ball with Babington - that was all part of the plan?”

“Yes,” said Susan, “although, I thought of it at the time as more of an experiment than an actual plan. We didn’t truly know what might happen until we put you and Charlotte in the very same room together. From the little that she has shared with me, it was far more successful than I ever imagined, at least at first. But, Mr Parker, I must warn you that I'm afraid she has been very conflicted of late, ever since Mrs Campion returned.”

Sidney felt his heartbeat quicken, “Has she...said anything?”

“That’s the very thing, Mr Parker,” said Susan, “she has hardly said a word.”

“So, I am to lose her all over again. All in the name of protecting her.”

“I will not deny that it is a risk, Mr Parker,” said Susan, quietly, “you will have to tread carefully.”

“Then, it is a risk I must take,” he said, glancing up at her. “For Charlotte’s sake, I cannot do otherwise.”

“Well then,” said Susan, “I believe it may be time to consult with Mr Bicknell about a way forward, and a means of getting you out of this mess for good. And as for Charlotte,” Susan reached a hand out, placing it upon Sidney’s arm, “know that she will never come into harm’s way while she is with me.”

\-----------

Charlotte closed the door behind Mrs Campion that afternoon, the first tear falling just as the door latched, as if her mind had waited for the very sound before letting go. She flattened herself against the door, covering her mouth as great sobs escaped, the misery she felt settling permanently - because no matter how much she convinced herself that Mrs Campion had visited for the sole purpose of spouting empty threats, she could sense the truth in her words - and however imperceptible it may have been at first, the truth remained.


	29. Chapter 29

It was the night of the Milton's ball, one of the grandest events of the season, and instead of talking animatedly with Susan as they readied themselves for the evening out, Charlotte stared absently at her reflection in the mirror, catching Susan’s eye as she fastened a rather beautiful ruby necklace around her throat, an unmistakable feeling of dread pressing down upon her as Susan stepped away. It was the final finishing touch. They were nearly ready to leave.

“Absolutely stunning. It complements the gown rather well,” said Susan, her tone brighter than it needed to be, and Charlotte suspected that she was trying her best to break her out of this sombre mood.

Charlotte had been dressed in the finest gown in her possession that evening - cream in colour with an outer layer of gold-embroidered gauze that created a shimmering effect each time it caught the light. She began to nervously adjust the curls that framed her face, chewing on her lower lip as she did so.

“Let me hazard a guess,” said Susan calmly, “you are worried that Mr Parker and Mrs Campion will be attending this evening?”

Charlotte stopped, her fingers releasing a curl that she had been tugging at, causing it to bounce back into position, and looked at Susan in the mirror. “How could I not be?” 

“My dear, it will be quite all right. You may stay by my side all evening if you wish it. I am more than happy to do the talking where Mrs Campion is involved. It may not be enjoyable conversation, but at the very least, it will keep me on my toes. One must practice the ability to retort in a quick and clever manner, and she is certainly no novice.”

“It’s just...it will be the third time this week that we have seen them.”

“Well,” said Susan, “then we shall find you a dashing Baronet to dance with to put her off the scent, and you will be fulfilling our mission of making new London connections in the most entertaining way possible.”

Charlotte’s face relaxed slightly. “Remember, my dear,” Susan said, stepping toward her to adjust her sleeve, “you have every right to live your life. This business with Mrs Campion is merely an obstacle in our path.”

“And yet, I would not have guessed that it would affect me so...that it would be quite so hard.”

“All things worth having must be worked for, dear.”

“Yes,” she said, breathing deeply, “Yes, of course.”

“Charlotte...are you all right? I know that we have spoken about it, but I must admit to worrying incessantly that Mrs Campion's visit rather got under your skin.”

She blinked, as if startled by the comment. “Yes, of course...at least I will be. Just a bit weary, I think.”

“Then, if you wish it, you need only give me a signal tonight and we shall return home immediately."

"Really, Susan, I will be fine. Once we arrive, all will be okay again."

Susan eyed her sceptically, pursing her lips in thought. "I trust you to know yourself, dear, but my offer stands. You have my protection if and when you need it. And, if you are quite sure that you are ready for the evening to be underway at last, then I suppose we should make haste and ready ourselves for the carriage, or Bradford will have both our heads,” she grinned mischievously.

"You know, Susan," Charlotte said, taking her arm as they made their way toward the entrance hall, "sometimes I think that I might be happiest to live out my days at Weston Place.”

Susan smiled, a hint of concern in her expression, “and know, dear, that you are always welcome here, for however long you wish, but I very much believe that you will be far happier with your Mr Parker when we get this straightened out at last. Promise to visit often when you are happily married. I have grown so fond of your company that I admit I can't quite imagine going through the day-to-day without it.”

\----------

Susan’s carriage drove through the rain to St. James’s Place for the ball that evening, arriving at the palatial home of Lord and Lady Milton, its gothic spires and pointed arches amplified by the light of the full moon. “Each is larger than the last,” murmured Charlotte as she approached the open carriage door.

“What was that, Charlotte?” asked Susan who had just been handed down from the carriage.

“Oh, nothing,” she said sheepishly, “just admiring the scenery.”

“Very grand, indeed, is it not?” said Susan, taking her arm as they walked toward the entrance. “I would wager that in a house this size, the potential to make new acquaintances is an undeniable likelihood tonight.”

The front doors opened to reveal a spacious entrance hall, featuring the grandest staircase that Charlotte had ever seen. Even with the crowds surrounding them, it was the very first London house she had entered that seemed large enough to hold every last member of the Beau Monde. She imagined that this was the sort of opulence that the Prince Regent himself lived in. Surely, there must be potential investors among such a crowd.

She could not help but gasp in delight as they entered the immense ballroom just moments later. “Oh, Susan, it looks like something out of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ ,” she remarked, quite unable to contain her excitement.

“Yes, Lady Milton clearly has an eye for that sort of thing. You will find among the London set that the need to out-perform every other ball often results in more elaborate themes as the season progresses. It has become quite the sport for ladies, in fact.”

“Is this your way of telling me that we are to ready ourselves for a garishly overdone event at Weston Place this season?”

“Not a chance, dear Charlotte. I admit to not always being immune to the pressures of others, but I find that I am past all that now. One’s life becomes far more enjoyable when they stop caring quite so much about the opinions of others.”

“Is that why you were reading a book at Mrs Maudsley’s rout when we first met?” she asked, curiously, "I often wonder why you were hiding that evening."

“Yes, I find Mrs Maudsley’s events, in particular, to be very tedious, and yet, one must make an appearance for the sake of maintaining their social standing. It is all quite ridiculous, but at least I had the great fortune that particular evening of meeting you. Now, what do you say, Miss Heywood? Shall we make use of our talents and spread the word of our little town?”

Charlotte followed Susan’s lead, walking a few paces behind as nearly every person in the room turned to greet her as she passed. She scanned the crowd before them, catching sight of the Babingtons across the room, deep in conversation, their eyes fixed upon one another, but saw no sign of Sidney or Mrs Campion, and for the very first time that evening, she exhaled in relief, feeling the sense of dread lifting from her body. As they progressed through the room, Lady Milton, herself, approached them at last. 

“Lady Worcester!” she said, rather enthusiastically, “so happy that you could join us this evening.”

“Lady Milton,” Susan greeted her warmly, “We are so delighted to be here. Have you met my dearest friend, Miss Charlotte Heywood?” After a brief conversation with the surprisingly pleasant Lady Milton, not only had Susan managed to broach the subject of Sanditon and her plans to spend time there over the summer months, but by the end of it, they had walked away with an invitation for tea the following week, and a chance to discuss the town further. 

“Nicely done, Susan,” Charlotte said, impressed.

“Oh, it’s nothing that a bit of practice won’t help. Now, why don't you take the lead on the next conversation we have? We can produce a tally at the end of the evening to see who had the largest number of positive responses.”

Charlotte smiled, “I suppose that I could use a challenge to distract. Now, who is next? And be fair, mind.” she said with a twinkle in her eye. 

“Why, Charlotte, I wouldn’t dream of sending you to the wolves immediately. Perhaps two conversations in, we can approach the Duke of Northumberland and see how effective your charms really are.”

“A Duke? So early in the evening?”

“Yes, and this particular Duke is the most ornery gentleman in all of England. I can hardly believe he made an appearance at all.” She leaned closer to Charlotte’s ear, “gout, you see, and quite a severe case.”

“So, no dancing with the Duke, then.”

Susan erupted in laughter. “If you were to persuade this particular Duke to dance, I should convince the Prince Regent to present you with an entire estate along with a title, for it would be nothing short of a miracle.”


	30. Chapter 30

In just over an hour, Charlotte and Susan had spoken to two Dukes, a Baronet, several ladies and the Marquess of Townshend - who, judging by his intense interest in discussing any topic related to Charlotte, appeared to be undeniably taken with her. Even she observed the blush upon his cheek, how his eyes lingered on her while she spoke, and eventually, how he had managed to find ways to move closer to her in their circle, attempting to cut off others from the conversation, isolating her to the point where she began to wonder whether Susan might have to intervene. But there was one very obvious detail that kept her from signalling for assistance. For every moment the Marquess caught her eye, she found that she often had to look away in order to prevent a blush of her own - for the Marquess of Townshend was extraordinarily handsome. 

He wore the finest tailored clothing she had seen among younger men of the Beau Monde that evening. The deep pine green of his tailcoat matched his striking green eyes, and a mass of dark wavy hair fell upon his brow lending a softness to contrast the sharp, masculine lines of his face. He had begun to ask about her own background, her life in Willingden and how she came to London, and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the normalcy of their conversation. He was kind to her and appeared genuine in his interest to the point where she found herself drawn to him as well. But as their topic of conversation returned to that of Sanditon, their surroundings in the expansive ballroom began to grow smaller by the second, the music became less noticeable to her ears, the heat from the crowd too oppressive.

“Miss Heywood...are you quite all right?” he asked, concerned. Her breathing had increased along with her heartrate, until she felt as if she were in immediate need of an escape.

“Yes, yes, quite...I just feel as if I could use some air.”

He brought his hand up to her arm and, clearly thinking better of his actions, dropped it back to his side. “Do you wish for an escort? Is there something I might do to help?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It is quite all right. I should only be a moment, excuse me,” she said, her breath catching in her chest as she turned away. She signalled to Susan that she would return shortly, and made her way to the nearest wing, stepping through a set of curtains to reach a rather picturesque set of doors, propped open so that guests had easy access to the balcony beyond them.

She leaned against the open doorway, breathing in the fresh air deeply, attempting to cool herself from the heat of the crowds, the candlelit chandeliers, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Lord Townshend's presence may be somewhat to blame as well.

It was at this very moment that she noticed she was not the only person in the vicinity. A hunched figure leaned against the balcony’s balustrade, looking out upon the courtyard below. A waft of smoke reached her before she noticed the small glint in the darkness from its source. “Pardon,” she said, apologetically, “I didn’t realise that someone else was already here.”

The figure turned sharply, immediately, at the sound of her voice. “Charlotte?”

Her eyes grew wide, and she promptly turned to look over her shoulder, certain that a second voice was about to discover them both. She felt a hand close around her arm, and before she knew what had happened, she had been dragged out onto the balcony and pushed up against the stone exterior, ivy tickling the backs of her arms, her neck, as she breathed in the exhalations of smoke from the man in front of her. “Sidney, what is the meaning of this?” she seethed. 

Sidney looked behind him, to the wing where Charlotte had only just emerged, his arm pressing her further back into the ivy, as if he might succeed in making her disappear altogether. “She is here, Charlotte,” he whispered ominously. 

“And this is a less compromising place for me to be, is it?” she said, irritated, “ I would hate to have to claim my innocence were we to be found as we are at this very moment.”

He looked her in the eyes, his face hovering only inches away in the darkness, taking in her expression, her resounding displeasure, and at last, he released his hold on her, backing away suddenly as if she had burned him. “Quite right,” he said, embarrassed, taking another step back. “I suppose it goes without saying, but...we must find a way to avoid each other this evening.”

She lifted her chin, affronted as she stepped forward from the wall. “Of course, Mr Parker, I have no wish to ruin your evening. If you don’t mind, I believe I am eager to rejoin the party,” she said, turning quickly to storm through the doors, dodging his attempt to grab her arm once again, putting more distance between them before she turned back to him. "And don't concern yourself - I am quite capable of honouring your request."

“Charlotte, wait,” he whispered, but she had already dashed through the curtains without a second glance, noticing that Lord Townshend somehow looked more dashing than just a few moments ago. 

“Miss Heywood, now that you have returned, might I ask for the next dance?” Lord Townshend asked, and she consented, out of breath. “Yes, of course.”

As she moved to take his hand, Susan pulled her suddenly closer to her side. “My dear, I believe you have something on your gown,” she whispered discreetly, brushing the back of her dress until a stray ivy leaf fell to the floor behind her. Charlotte closed her eyes, jaw clenched in anger. “Thank you, Susan,” she said, and Lord Townshend led her out onto the floor.

\----------

Susan looked on as Charlotte and Lord Townshend took their places on the ballroom floor. He certainly was enamoured with her, there was no doubting it. He hadn’t taken his eyes from her since she had reappeared. It pained her to think about it, but perhaps Mr Parker might have a bit of competition, after all. She hadn’t thought it possible before tonight. 

As the musicians began the quadrille, she felt a breeze upon the back of her neck and turned in time to witness Sidney storm into the ballroom from the very place Charlotte had just been. Ah, so that explained it, she smiled, amused until she saw him react - watched him freeze to the very floor beneath him as he registered that Charlotte wasn’t just dancing with another, she was dancing with perhaps the most eligible bachelor in all of London. Immediately, any amusement she had felt vanished and she found that her heart ached for the man. 

She walked over to him. “Mr Parker,” she greeted quietly, “how are you this evening?” 

He bowed politely to her and glanced back at Charlotte, tracking her movements. Susan followed his gaze and sighed. “I have no idea what you said to her, but she was not pleased when she returned to our party.”

He swallowed, his jaw tensing in frustration. “It cannot be helped, Susan,” he said softly, and she stepped closer to him so that he was sure to hear her over the music as they looked on.

“Then I take it that you are still settled on pursuing your current course of action?”

“I have to, Susan," he murmured, "for her sake as well as Mary’s.”

“I see..." she said quietly, pondering for a moment. "In that case, Mr Parker, I believe you may be in need of a conversation just now and as it happens, I may be of some help in that regard. Will you allow me to oblige?”

“As you wish,” he said, absently.

“I have yet to tell you of this, Mr Parker, but when I was a girl, I dreamed for years of seeing the seaside. I was not as fortunate as you to have been raised in such a scenic town, you see. My father’s estate was in Hampshire, far inland and rather obscenely rural.”

They watched as Charlotte twirled away from Lord Townshend, a smile upon her face as she returned to his arms, and Sidney exhaled quickly, glancing down at the floor as if he could no longer stand the sight of it.

“I used to spend hours poring over maps in the library, memorising the names of the towns. My father even owned a book about Brighton, and I still recall every illustration, every description.”

He looked back to the dancers, blinking rather rapidly, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“The year I turned thirteen, my father announced that he wished to spend a summer in Brighton for his health, and even still, I can’t recall a time when I was more elated, more euphoric than the day he shared the news that he wished for me to accompany him.”

He smiled slightly in response. “And was it everything you wished it would be?”

“That is the very thing - it wasn’t to be. Not then. My father died across from me in the carriage not three miles into the journey.”

He reacted quickly, his grave expression the same she had seen a thousand times as he turned to her. “He died in front of you?”

She sighed, “Yes. He did. And I doubt I will ever again feel such an array of emotions in one single moment. He was the very light of my life, you see,” she said, glancing at him with a kind smile. “It would take another ten years before I was finally able to make the journey to Brighton.”

“Ten years...” he said, fading off for a moment, “...and it was worth the wait?”

She looked wistfully over the crowd. “Oh, it was beautiful - more arresting than any illustration, any work of art. It rather stopped me in my tracks - squeezed at my heart in a way I had never experienced in my life.”

“As if you were looking upon something greater than yourself,” he finished quietly, and he met her gaze fully at last.

“You see, it may have taken me ten years to reach the seaside, Mr Parker, but I cannot deny that every struggle, every setback, every treacherous stretch of country road travelled brought me to one of the greatest moments of my life.”

He appeared taken aback by her words, breathing in as if to compose himself, and as the crowd began to applaud after the final bars had been played, Sidney looked to the floor once more in deep contemplation, hands still tightly clasped behind his back.

“Lady Worcester,” said a voice approaching them, and Susan lifted her head to meet the gaze of Eliza Campion as she took Sidney’s arm without it being offered, and noticed that his only response to her was an irritated twitch of his jaw.

“Mrs Campion, lovely to see you. Are you enjoying the ball this evening?” 

“Oh yes, I believe I may have even received some inspiration for our own nuptials.”

“How...lovely,” she said again absently as she caught sight of Lord Townshend and Charlotte approaching and the brief expression of alarm written so clearly upon Charlotte’s face as she realised who the other members of their party were.

“Lord Townshend,” she said, all politeness, “have you yet become acquainted with Mr Parker and Mrs Campion?”

“Mrs Campion,” he said, a slight smile bordering on amusement upon his face, “it has been some time, I must say.”

“Lord Townshend,” she said rather coolly, “I’m rather surprised to see you here.”

“Ah, so you are already acquainted. Lovely.” Susan said, yet again.

“Yes, Mrs Campion’s country estate borders my own, you see,” Lord Townshend explained, looking at length upon Eliza.

Sidney remained in his place, staring at the floor, quite unable, it seemed, to make eye contact with Charlotte, and Susan realised soon after that Charlotte appeared to be staring at the very same spot upon the ballroom floor. But then, unexpectedly, she came to, lifting her gaze to the rest of the party. “Mrs Campion,” she said, carefully meeting her gaze, alone, “I hope that you are well.”

“As well as ever, aren’t we, dear,” Eliza smirked in response. “Although wedding preparations have rather taken over our lives lately, haven't they." She looked up at Sidney, and he nodded silently in response.

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte said, "I'd imagine no less."

“And how are you finding London society?” Mrs Campion asked.

Charlotte looked up at the figure of Lord Townshend standing next to her. “Very welcoming, Mrs Campion.” Susan noticed that Sidney stiffened even further from the corner of her eye.

“I would imagine that your mother must not be able to spare you for long, Miss Heywood. Tell me, will you have to return to your village to care for your siblings before the winter sets in?” Susan heard the familiar pernicious note in her voice, and readied her mind for the retorts that would likely need to be spouted at any moment.

“Susan has kindly invited me to stay for the season, if I wish it, and my family is able to manage quite well enough without me.” 

“Yes, well, I would imagine it is one less mouth to feed, at the very least. Poor thing,” she finished in mock concern.

Susan turned to Eliza, her eyes flashing in anger, and as she opened her mouth to speak, she heard the voice of Lord Townshend behind her. “Miss Heywood, might I ask for the next dance?”


	31. Chapter 31

Sidney Parker had never felt more conflicted in his life as Eliza pulled him along through the crowd, pausing to speak with each of her acquaintances, introducing him to whomever miraculously hadn’t heard that they were engaged as if he were a prize she wished to flaunt.

He listened to the opening bars of the waltz, glancing up to scan the room for Charlotte, and felt as if he had been thrown from his horse all over again when he found her. She was radiant, and he was not the man to make her so. 

He counted the seconds in his head as Eliza spoke animatedly with their group, her hand still wound around his arm to keep him within reach, and waited silently for the music to slow - for after the final bars of the waltz had been played, Lord Townshend would have to lead Charlotte from the floor for the evening and seek out a new partner. At last, the dancers stilled and the crowd applauded, and Sidney looked up from the spot he had been staring at on the floor. He watched as Lord Townshend took her hand and whispered into her ear, entirely too close in proximity for an event such as this - and as they took their places on the floor once again, his breath caught in his throat, a jolt of panic coursing through his body when he realised that they were not to leave.

“Who is Lord Townshend's companion this evening?” he heard a voice across from him ask, and he looked up to see Mrs Campion’s friend, Mrs Neville, sidle up to them. 

“Oh, that is Miss Heywood,” said Eliza, shortly, dismissively.

“My, they must be very serious, indeed. They make a fine pairing, do they not?” she remarked.

“Alice, dear,” Mrs Campion scoffed, releasing Sidney’s arm to take that of her friend’s. “She is little more than a farmer’s daughter. Certainly not one to fit in with our London set, and certainly not a proper enough match for the likes of Lord Townshend.”

“Oh, my,” she erupted in derisive laughter, “so more of a mistress than a wife, perhaps. Eliza, you do keep me informed.”

Eliza glanced up at Sidney, who felt as if he were about to erupt at any moment, and she clearly received the message as she led Alice away toward the refreshments, leaving him behind to watch the greater torture before him.

His eyes did not leave her as she spun about the floor, Lord Townshend touching her hands and waist with a fervour that made him clench his jaw, his own hands balling into fists behind his back as he tracked them both. And then she saw him in the crowd, her smile faltering as he held her eyes with his own before she turned away again.

She blinked rapidly, looking away from Lord Townshend, breaking their connection as he spun her one final time before the music stopped - and then she left him, walking away as quickly as she could to the edge of the ballroom floor, then breaking into a run.

A polite smile was all that he could manage as he backed away from the group he had remained standing among, moving as slowly as he dared at first, checking over his shoulder for signs of Eliza as he walked. Then he put all else from his mind, speeding in the direction she had gone, noticing a distant door to the courtyard open and close discreetly.

The rain had subsided temporarily, and he looked above him at the full moon hovering through a fine mist, shedding light upon the cobblestones and mature gardens that surrounded the house. 

He darted toward the tall line of hedges, seeking her out, the stillness in the air finally lending him a clue as to her whereabouts and turned a corner to find her backed into a hedge, her face streaked with tears as she inhaled sharply, hand resting on her stomach to control her breathing.

“Charlotte, what have you done?” he scolded, his own voice breaking, the undercurrent of anger and disappointment undeniable. She jumped at his presence, and her expression closed off almost immediately.

“What are you doing out here, Mr Parker?” she sniffed, a hint of defiance in her voice. “I thought that we were to avoid each other this evening.”

“Have you lost your mind?” His voice shot out into the night air as he growled the words.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyebrows raised in unison, lending to her air of innocence.

He shook his head, incredulous, “You have the nerve to dance _three_ dances with some acquaintance, and you act the innocent?”

“And what does it even matter to you,” she lashed out. 

“Charlotte, the entire Beau Monde will consider you to be as good as engaged by morning! I didn’t think you capable of such senselessness.”

She stepped toward him, her expression intensifying, livid. “And how do you think it feels to stand by and watch as I have done? Have had to do as she paraded you around the room like some prized possession!” She stood before him as tall as she could possibly stand in her ire. 

He huffed, her anger bleeding into him as he gritted his teeth. “You think I enjoy being stripped of all control like that?”

“I wanted you to know how it _feels_ , Sidney!” she shouted, her face inches from his. “ _Every_ time, that is how it feels. Every _second_ you are with her.” She broke away, unable to look him in the eyes as silence fell, leaden, between them.

“So instead, you choose to tear my heart out - a heart that is lifeless at best,” he said bitterly. “Charlotte, I cannot make sense of such recklessness.” 

“So now I’m reckless?”

“Practically promising yourself to a marquess out of spite? Yes, I would classify that as reckless.” 

“Tell me,” she tilted her head, looking up at him with a coldness he could not recall, “how would engaging yourself to another woman without even consulting the woman you love - the woman who was waiting for you, planning to spend a _life_ with you. How would that be classified?”

“Oh, and you would have sent Tom, Mary and the children straight to the debtor’s prison, would you?” he asked, grabbing her arm, stabilising her, hoping to calm her, but her response was the opposite of what he had hoped to see.

She pushed him away in one swift, jarring motion that sent spikes of pain through his torso as she wrenched her arm free, and he watched, gasping for air, as she ran away rapidly along the hedgerow. Furious, he followed, chasing her to the very edge of the courtyard where he gripped her shoulder, slowing her progress as he proceeded to block her path. 

He held her arms, keeping her still as he attempted to meet her gaze, and she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, both of them striving to catch their breath to no avail. 

“You need to know that you sacrificed more than your life that day. You sacrificed mine as well. My _happiness,_ ” she cried. “And I thought I had forgiven you, but I cannot seem to forget the fact that you would toss me aside so readily.”

“Charlotte, I-”

“How could you do such a thing to the woman you loved? And then you come back just to waver again.”

“Charlotte, please,” he begged, gripping her shoulders until she was certain he was bruising her, claiming her.

“Can you not see why I resorted to such recklessness?” 

“Charlotte, I never meant - I would die before I caused you pain willingly. I need you to know this.” 

“And yet you did,” she said, her voice teeming with disappointment, and yet chillingly resolute. “You gave her exactly what she wanted, and released her out into the world, to bury me in unbounded misery until I hardly knew myself.”

“Charlotte, I had to...forgive me.” He could hardly speak the words, feeling as if he might faint from the exertion of them. “I beg of you. You must forgive me.” 

“What does it even matter,” she cried, “if we are to sever all ties?”

“Char-” he choked, the night air lost to him as he searched for the words. “I will fix this. I just need more time.”

She tilted her head, and shook it slowly. “We are running out of time.”

“No,” he sobbed, shaking her, gritting his teeth. “We still have-”

“What can be done in a few months, when we can’t even see each other?”

“Trust me, Charlotte. Why won’t you just-” He faded off, moving his hands to her face, cupping her chin, running his fingers into her hair. “Please, just look at me.” 

“Don’t you see?” She released his hold on her, stepping back, out of reach. “This is your own doing. Put it to rights or don’t, the choice is yours. I will do what I can, but I cannot live my life in misery, hoping to see you at every turn.”

He stood silent and breathless, sinking as his shoulders fell in defeat, and she said the only words that she had left to say, “I wish you well, Mr Parker.”

She turned away from him and walked in the direction of the courtyard, her head held as high as she could stand to hold it, and he watched her go, paralysed. 

“Charlotte, please wait,” she heard him call out at last. “Don’t walk away.”

But she continued on her path, knowing that certain decisions must be made before she could truly forgive. The rest was up to him. 


	32. Chapter 32

Esther had been watching the door to the courtyard as discreetly as possible for quite some time, keeping her head angled just enough to notice any peripheral movement that would indicate a door opening, and either Charlotte or Sidney emerging from the rapidly worsening weather outside. She was not surprised to see that it was Charlotte who returned to the ballroom first. She walked quickly, with purpose - her expression grave, almost irritated, as she approached Susan. They left the ballroom together within moments. 

When several more minutes passed and she saw no sign of Sidney, concern set in. This had certainly not been a reconciliation. 

“Babington, dear,” she said, approaching him among the group of men to her left and leaving the odious Mrs Campion to her high society friends, “I should like to take a stroll.”

Babington turned, mid-laugh and it took only a glimpse of Esther for his own expression to turn. 

“Ah, yes, my dear,” he said, “I would love nothing more. Gentlemen, if you would excuse me.”

He offered his arm to her and allowed her to steer him in the right direction. “Is it as we feared?” he asked her out of the corner of his mouth.

“It may be worse, I’m afraid,” she said quietly. “I think that he is outside, and alone.” 

Babington sucked in a quick breath of air, preparing himself as they stepped outdoors into the courtyard.

They found him slumped against a hedgerow on the ground, a chilling rain collecting on his jacket and breeches, his ears looking alarmingly red even in the darkness, the rest of him pale, almost lifeless.

They kneeled on either side of him. 

“Parker, what has happened??” Babington asked, his voice unable to mask the pity he felt for his friend.

He responded with a weepy shake of his head. 

Babington looked to Esther. “Darling, could you arrange for the carriage to pull around? There must be an exit to the street nearby.” 

Esther nodded, “Yes, there is a west exit. He should not be seen in this state. I shall make our apologies. At the very least, Mrs Campion brought her own carriage.”

Sidney tried to move at the mention of her name, but Esther gently pushed his shoulders back against the hedge. “It’s all right, I will let her know you were feeling poorly and Babington is escorting you home. You have every excuse to, what with the injuries you have suffered." She looked over at Babington. "Have them bring the carriage around to the front entrance once you have collected Sidney. I will await you there.”

Babington and Sidney both stared back at her. “What?” she asked, impatiently. “ _Go_.”

She stood and brushed the water droplets from her dress, making for the door as Babington attempted to collect the still limp form that was Sidney.

Not ten minutes later, Esther emerged from Mrs Milton’s grand front entrance, a hand reaching from the carriage to help her in, and they were off for home.

\----------

The following morning, Sidney did not emerge from the guest wing at Worthing House. Esther sent Babington to check on him and breakfasted alone, sipping her tea distractedly and wondering what must have happened the night before to result in such despondency. She had witnessed a man who was completely devoid of hope. He looked as if he had been on the verge of death when she had finally seen him in the light, and she cursed herself for waiting quite so long to check on him. 

Babington emerged suddenly in the doorway, leaning in, a look of concern upon his face.

“Anything?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “He didn’t even respond. Just stared ahead at the fire.”

Esther took in a breath, wondering what to do next. “Should we both try to talk to him? Or is it time to call Dr Carmichael again?”

Babington stilled, hands on hips, contemplating what to do next. "Let's try it again. The both of us this time."

They knocked before entering the room and found Sidney laid upon the bed exactly as Babington had described him. Esther walked across the room, stopping to pull a chair over and sat beside him.

“Sidney,” she said as calmly as she could, feeling Babington’s presence behind her chair as she spoke, “I don’t know the specifics of what happened last night, but I do know who you were with.”

Sidney’s eyes welled over as she spoke. He allowed the tears to fall silently without brushing them away, without breaking his gaze toward the fireplace. He seemed to be in another place, entirely.

“You must know that we are here to help you, in any way that we can.”

“Sidney, please, tell us what happened. We cannot begin to help you until we at least know.” Babington interjected, the frustration evident in his tone.

Sidney swallowed. “What is there to tell?” he croaked, “That I have lost her and it was my own doing?”

“Surely, there is still time,” Babington said.

Sidney shook his head, chin trembling, and Babington had the sinking feeling that he had just said the worst possible thing.

“Sidney, what did she say to you?” Esther asked.

He swallowed back a sob, breathing deeply. “She cannot forgive me for what I have done.”

“The engagement?” asked Esther. Sidney nodded.

“And I no longer feel as if I can repair it. She deserves better than what she has had with me.”

“She does deserve better,” Esther agreed, reaching for his hand, “but that does not mean you cannot improve upon decisions that you made in the past.”

Sidney met Esther’s gaze, “I know what it is to love, Sidney, have been fortunate to find it myself, and her love for you is undeniable - I see it in every encounter you have with her. She would not give it up so easily.”

He breathed deeply, squeezing her hand. “I am not so certain that I can repair the damage.”

“Well, you did run off and engage yourself to another woman. Naturally, she will have been hurt by such a decision. Imagine what that must have felt like for her.”

“I have thought of nothing else. To think that I committed the very same act as Eliza all those years ago,” Sidney said, looking to Babington. "And what have I done? Allowed my pride to get in the way of her happiness - to punish myself by finding a way out on my own, neglecting to acknowledge how much I caused her to suffer with each passing day - all because I was so absorbed in proving myself worthy of her."

“Sidney, you are not alone in this,” Babington said, “and you will never _be_ alone. Allow us to help you.”

“We will do anything to avoid the alternative mess you’ve got yourself into,” Esther said.

Sidney laughed bitterly. “I have made a mess of my life, haven’t I.”

“You have,” Esther said, smiling at him, “but that does not mean the mess cannot be fixed.”

Sidney turned to them both, “What am I to do?”

“You know,” Esther looked at him with an expression bordering on annoyance, “for a man who engages in as many boxing matches as you, you are acting remarkably dim.”

“What are you on about?” Sidney asked, sitting forward.

Esther rolled her eyes, “Men...it is not about _you_ , Mr Parker, it is about what you are willing to do for her. Perhaps I will leave you to consider that one on your own, but first, we need you to be honest about what has happened to cause this mess in the first place, and for that, I am going to need you to start at the beginning. Perhaps that will rouse your fighting instincts.” 

  
  


\----------

  
  


“£80,000,” Esther breathed. They had finally left Sidney’s bedside, retiring to Lord Babington’s study to allow him to rest. “Now, it makes perfect sense why my aunt was so angry with the Parkers.”

“I must admit, I am equally as shocked,” Babington replied. “I knew that there was more to the story than what had appeared, but to be in such a debt to Eliza Campion. It’s no wonder that Parker hasn’t found a way out on his own.”

“What is to be done for him?” Esther asked, apprehensive of her husband’s answer.

“To be perfectly honest, when I found out that this was about money, I had hoped that we might solve that issue on our own, but this,” he shook his head, “this is too great a debt for our fortune to withstand.”

“And what of his connections?” she asked. “Lady Worcester is able to invest.”

“Yes, she is able to help him more than I thought possible, but this will take many connections to put to rights if we are to keep the entire Parker family from ruin.” 

Esther nodded. “Then, my dear, I believe that we are overdue to offer our assistance.”

Babington smiled, squeezing his wife’s hand. “If we could only see our friends as happy as we have been. I must say, I wish for nothing less.” 

Esther smiled at him. “We should not lose hope. Not yet.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” Esther and Babington broke their gaze, and turned to find their butler in the doorway, wringing his hands in a very uncharacteristic fashion.

“Yes, Redmond, what is it?” Babington asked quickly, sensing that something alarming must have happened. “Is it Mr Parker?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Out with it, then,” Babington said in an equally uncharacteristic fashion.

“Milord, he...has left the house, and abruptly. I only just caught him going out the front entrance. We had not been aware that he was…”

“No longer indisposed?” Babington finished.

“Precisely, Milord.” Redmond practically cowered in the doorway.

“No warning? Was there a carriage?”

“No, Milord, although the groom mentioned he saw a gentleman... _running_ down the street just now.” Redmond had said the words with marked repugnance.

“My God, he has lost his senses.” Babington began to pace the room, his hand having flown to his forehead as if to fend off a sudden headache.

Esther remained seated, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Quite the contrary, my dear. I believe that Mr Parker may have come to his senses, after all.”

“You think he is going all the way across Mayfair on foot?” Babington asked, incredulous.

“Oh yes, I do.” She laughed at the thought, looking out the large study window, “and in the rain as well. Mr Parker, you do have something to prove.”


	33. Chapter 33

The streets of London had cleared considerably in the rain. Pedestrians sought out the shelter of carriages and shops, street vendors retreated under awnings, and the normally congested pathways of Mayfair had been abandoned almost entirely as the rain pelted down in cold, dense sheets. As lightning struck overhead, followed closely by the rumblings of thunder, Sidney Parker ran. 

He ran from Green Street to North Audley Street, through Grosvenor Square to Charles Street. His overcoat, shirt and waistcoat moulded to his skin as he filled his lungs with air for the first time in months, and though they felt fit to burst, he found that slowing his pace was no longer an option as her words played through his mind. _The choice is yours._

Skidding to a halt outside Weston Place, he bounded up the stairs leading to its grand entry, ringing the bell once, twice, a third time until Lady Worcester’s butler arrived at the door, looking frankly alarmed to see him in such a state. 

Sidney stood gasping for air. “Ch-Charlotte…” he managed to say as he hunched over, hands upon his knees, and the butler looked at him quizzically. “I beg your pardon…” he began in an affronted tone.

“Bradford, who is it?” Sidney heard Lady Worcester’s voice emerge from the entrance hall, and as she approached, her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, a smile playing upon her lips. “Mr Parker, I must say that we weren’t expecting you in such weather. If you have come to call upon Miss Heywood, I am afraid that she may be in a similar predicament at the moment.”

“She...what?” Sidney croaked, placing a hand upon his chest as he braced the other against the nearest pillar.

“She left not long ago, you see, in the direction of the park.”

He stilled for the briefest moment. “The park,” he murmured.

“Yes, she prefers Green Park to Hyde. It is far less congested at this time of day.”

He nodded, backing away from them. “Thank you, your Ladyship.” His voice nearly broke in gratitude.

“The entrance off of Half Moon Street. If you hurry, you will catch her.” Susan winked at him and he turned, taking the steps two at a time, increasing his pace as he ran the length of Charles Street, rain pelting into his eyes and mouth as he went, rivulets of water running down his body as adrenaline propelled him forward. _He must find her. He must. He must. He must._

At last, he reached the park entrance, looking to paths left and right, attempting to solve the mystery of which she would have taken until he noticed a rather lovely tree-lined third option before him.

He ran ahead, seeking her out, looking around to spot a glimpse of a white dress, the flash of a ribbon through the downpour. The trees grew denser as he progressed, and he was struck with a sudden terror that he would pass her by, were she further removed from the path. But in the midst of his distress, he caught a flash of movement in the copse of trees up ahead. 

His heart adjusted its rhythm, feeling as if it were skipping around inside his chest as he stopped, not quite believing it could be her. And yet, there she was, huddled beneath a large oak tree, its canopy large enough to provide some degree of shelter. Her green spencer was nearly the same colour as the evergreens behind her, but it was the white dress, which clung to her legs from the rain, that had caught his eye. She stood near the large trunk of the oak and looked out at the rain, hair hanging, saturated, at her shoulders - the ribbon of her bonnet, almost forgotten, looped around her wrist. 

His eyes honed in on her as he alighted from the path, taking great strides, top hat in hand - and she froze, mouth agape as he approached her, eyes locked to his in bewilderment.

“How did you-” she started, but he raised a hand to cup her chin, running his thumb along the curve of her mouth.

His chest rose and fell with abandon as his eyes bore into hers, as if he were committing every detail of her to memory.

“Charlotte…” he said, “I have been a fool. You deserve better than what I can provide for you, of that I am certain, but I,” he shook his head slightly, adamantly, “I cannot give you up.” His hand moved along her jawline, his fingers combing into her hair as he tilted his head closer. 

"So, if you are ever in any doubt," he said, lowering his gaze to her lips, his breath quieting as he looked back into her eyes, “know that from now on, I will always choose you, that I will fight for a life with you, for your happiness as well as my own, and I will not settle for less.” 

He looked at her, silently pleading. “I don't expect you to forgive me for what I have done. I caused you pain - pain I never intended to inflict upon you, and yet I did. And Charlotte, I am sorry for it. Tell me...that I still have some chance to put this to rights.”

She tilted her head, overcome by such a declaration, “I believe that I chose you long ago, Mr Parker, and as I recall, it was quite out of my control.”

He breathed in deeply at her words, “I love you, Charlotte. So much that it pains me to be away from you, even for a moment. This arrangement, it will not do.”

“No, it won’t do.” she echoed, the answer as genuine as she had ever given.

"If it is your happiness as well as my own that is at stake, I cannot go through with it. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I may end up destitute and poor, without anything to offer you, but last night I realised that I would risk worse than that - everything, in fact - if it meant the chance at a life with you.”

“Have you-” she faltered, unable to speak the words.

“No...at least, not yet," he said, shaking his head, then looked down at his hat in his hands for a moment, flushed. "I deduced that if I were to prove myself as a proper partner, as someone worthy of you, that perhaps my days of making rash decisions were over. The truth is that I need your help. I need your mind, your ingenuity, your spirit, to do what is right. If I have learned anything from my brother’s mistakes, it is to put your trust in those closest to you, and you are the most capable woman I have ever met.”

“So, you’re asking me to help you out of this mess, after all.”

“I need help from a woman who is infinitely more clever than I, and I am here to admit it, to propose a partnership that will enable us to live freely...if you wish it.”

“Go on,” she said, intrigued.

“I am offering to break my engagement with Mrs Campion. I will not succeed without you, I am certain of that, but if you were so inclined to help me find a way, I need only a word from you, and I will pull her investments from Sanditon.”

“How much of her money is tied up at present?”

“Some £50,000. An additional thirty would go into effect after the marriage took place.”

“And, were we to pull it now, what would happen to Tom, Mary and the children?”

“We would not have long to find an alternative before the entire Parker family is ruined.”

“Well then, Mr Parker," Charlotte sighed, playfully, "it seems that we have work to do, and perhaps a few friends to call upon."

“Yes," he smiled, looking as if a weight had been lifted from him, "Yes, we most certainly do. Beginning, perhaps, with Babington and Esther.”

“Oh? They have expressed an interest?”

“Yes. Esther seems quite taken with you. Me, not so much, but that is to be expected. I have been a fool, and she is fully aware of the fact.”

“Charlotte...” he continued, a seriousness coming over him once again, “I must ask, what would you have me do?”

“It is hard to say,” she hesitated. “She infuriates me to no end, but I do understand the risks. And yet, I cannot just go on as we are now.”

He nodded. “Then I shall write to her today.”

Charlotte swallowed, her stomach in knots. “Really, Sidney, my happiness should not take precedence over the safety of your family. I never thought it worth more than that.”

“And yet, I find that it is the most important thing in the world at this very moment. Charlotte, I cannot pretend around you, not anymore.”

“Then...what if we set a date? In just a matter of weeks. Enough time to track down as many investors as we are able."

"A timeline of sorts."

"Exactly. We will see where we stand at the end of it. Avoid her, if you must, and we will risk the consequences, but I could never forgive myself if we...if we did not succeed.”

He nodded, lowering his gaze for a moment to consider. His hand came up to touch her arm as he looked into her eyes. “Three weeks, then. And not a minute more.”

“All right,” she agreed. “But be prepared, Mr Parker. I will require your assistance, and often, before then.”

“I am more than willing to assist, Miss Heywood. In fact,” he reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with her own, and raised it to his lips, the promise in his gaze apparent, “I may not leave your side.” 

The downpour had returned in full force, and the din surrounded them as he moved closer, his face inches away, eyes closing as her fingers brushed his cheek and curved around to the back of his neck as she pulled him to her in their secluded corner of Green Park. 

\----------

It was nearing the afternoon hour by the time Sidney and Charlotte arrived at the entrance to Weston Place, the rain having persisted for far longer than usual. He held the door for her as she walked across the threshold, and as she turned her head to glance back at him, unwilling to let go of their morning together quite yet, he looked like a man very much in love.

Susan sighed audibly at the exchange, her vision fogging ever-so-slightly as she held back from greeting them. They had suffered more than most, she thought, and if she could give them a few more seconds in each other’s company, time was a gift she was more than happy to bestow.

Charlotte continued to look at Sidney over her shoulder, and he seemed quite stuck in his place at the door for a moment before realising himself and coming through after her, rather faster than was necessary.

Bradford took Sidney’s damp overcoat and top hat, and at long last, Charlotte turned to find Susan standing near the grand staircase. “Susan” she walked over to her, “do you have a moment? Mr Parker and I have some business matters to discuss. He found me in the park, you see, and well, we were quite stranded during the downpour. I do apologise.”

“Yes,” Susan responded, knowingly, “Mr Parker stopped by earlier searching for you and I sent him in that very direction.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, connecting the events that preceded his finding her. “Well, at the park, we had some time to discuss a certain strategy for the Sanditon investments, and were wondering if you might wish to hear it?”

“Follow me. To the library, both of you. From the looks of it, you will both require some time near the fire.” Susan said, waving over Mr Parker, a look of amusement upon her face, and as they passed by her, proceeding down the hall, smiling at each other with flushed cheeks, she finally chanced a glance at Bradford, who raised an eyebrow in her direction. “I shall call for you if I am in need of assistance...or perhaps an additional chaperone…but for now, a tea service should do.” 

“Precisely my thinking, your Ladyship. And do call should you be in need.” He winked at her before his customary bow and promptly made off for the kitchens.

Susan walked after them to the library. “Please, do sit down.” She motioned to the furniture before the fireplace.

They sat together upon the sofa - she, opposite them in a wingback chair. “I take it that you have been discussing matters of business,” she said coyly.

Charlotte blushed, averting her gaze to the window before looking back at Susan. “Yes...we have been discussing a way forward this morning, and in order to proceed, well, we would like to ask for your help.”

“Of course, I am here to help you in any way I can,” she said, “please, tell me what you are thinking.”

“Well,” Charlotte hesitated, “in our previous attempts to attract visitors to the regatta, we attended the very ball where we met, Susan, as an effort to spread the word about Sanditon, but the only person we really managed to convince that night was you, and we were lucky enough that you were able to attract so many others just from your presence in Sanditon that day.”

“Go on,” she said.

“May I ask, what made you decide to travel to Sanditon?”

“Why, to continue the conversation we were unable to finish the night of the ball.”

“Exactly,” Charlotte said, “though it was the very beginning of our friendship, you still wished to join me there, to spend more time with a friend.”

“True,” Susan answered, intrigued. 

“I believe that if we found other ladies such as yourself in London, ladies who have influence, they would not only convince their husbands and families to come to Sanditon, but their acquaintances as well.”

“You clever girl,” Susan said, admiringly. “But of course. Forget about convincing the men when the choice of where one goes lies with the women, and should society women wish to spend time at the seaside, they will choose what is fashionable.”

"There is one more thing that I haven't mentioned..."

"Yes?"

"Mr Parker and I have come to an agreement of sorts today. We wish to drum up as many investments as possible in the next three weeks."

"I'm sorry, did you say three weeks?" Susan asked.

"Yes. Do you...think it impossible?" Charlotte asked hesitantly.

Susan laughed, "Oh, what do I know. I don't exactly embark on this sort of mission regularly. I think it's certainly a challenge, and one I am willing to embrace if it is what the two of you wish to do. If I am perfectly honest, I think it's about time we light a fire under everyone involved, don't you?"

"There is one other idea that we wish to mention," Charlotte looked across at Susan, almost nervously.

"It's all right, dear, you can share any idea with me. There is no need to fret."

Charlotte looked to Sidney, who continued. “Your Ladyship, I am closely acquainted with Lord and Lady Babington, who also share an acquaintance with a particular friend of yours.”

“Yes, I do know Lord Babington, though I am not as acquainted with his new wife.”

“You see, we believe it may be time to attempt to convince him that Sanditon is a desirable destination - and that, if we are successful, perhaps it may generate enough interest to make the town appear fashionable to potential investors.”

A smile spread across Susan's face, which displayed an expression of utter delight. “Well...then it is a good thing that we are to meet him tomorrow evening.”

“What?” Charlotte asked, astonished.

“Great minds don’t always think alike, Charlotte, but on occasion, we do develop similar strategies. The Prince Regent doesn’t tend to listen to many, but he listens to me, and as we have just discussed, a woman’s influence can be very effective.” Her eyes twinkled at them both. “Would you not agree, Mr Parker?”

“I would be a fool not to, Lady Worcester,” he smiled, stealing a glance at Charlotte next to him.

“Such a smart man you are,” Susan said. “Now, I shall need you both to accompany me to the theatre tomorrow, and perhaps see if Lord and Lady Babington might also be available to join us. The more acquaintances of the Prince Regent’s we have, the better our chances of gaining his trust.”


	34. Chapter 34

The carriages carrying the party arrived at Covent Garden Theatre the following evening, halting before the grand Doric portico as crowds of theatre-goers approached the entrance. The door of the Babingtons' carriage opened the very moment the wheels stopped turning, and within seconds, Sidney Parker hopped down to the street, clad all in black, moving swiftly to the next carriage ahead.

As he extended a hand to Lady Worcester, his eyes looked beyond her into the far end of the carriage - not wanting to miss the moment the light caught her at last as she emerged. She wore her hair back in the new style, curls framing her face, an emerald green gown pooling at her feet and velvet-lined cape upon her shoulders. He only just remembered to extend his hand to her in time, feeling the warm fabric of her glove beneath his fingers as she stepped down to him.

“Shall we?” Susan interrupted, and they turned in tandem to see her motioning toward the large crowd that was ascending the shallow steps leading to the main entrance. 

The group entered at Hart Street and proceeded up the grand staircase lined with Ionic columns. Grecian lamps were suspended from the ornate plaster ceiling above emitting a soft evening glow, and all the while, Charlotte looked upwards, taking it in, having never experienced a place quite like it.

They arrived in the large spacious saloon and made their way across to check their coats and hats, awaiting Susan’s direction. She held a coveted private box at Covent Garden, located in a separate wing from the others - the very same as the King’s box, where the Prince Regent would be seated for the evening’s performance.

“Busy evening, is it not,” Babington had stepped alongside Sidney as they waited for the ladies.

“Yes, it seems so,” said Sidney, glancing around the room. “Might it have anything to do with the special guest this evening? Are they hoping for a sighting?”

“Of the Prince Regent? No, I doubt it. Although, perhaps there may be more appearances near the King’s box at intermission by those wishing to catch a glimpse of him, poor bloke. It’s no wonder that he insisted upon his own entrance when they designed this place.”

“What?” asked Sidney.

“He doesn’t use the main entrance, comes in a secret way instead - or so I’ve been told.”

“Ah, gentlemen, are we ready then?” Susan asked.

They climbed one last flight of shallow stairs to reach Susan’s box, emerging in a grand corridor lined with statues and elegant furniture with tapestries and paintings upon the walls. The large windows made it feel more like a spacious gallery, elaborate and richly decorated. 

“Beautiful, is it not?” Susan asked. “Anything he has a hand in creating is designed with a keen eye, I will give him that,” she said, standing next to Charlotte. 

“Susan, do you mean...your friend...had a hand in creating Covent Garden?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose in a way,” she said. “He is rather proud of this place, though he takes more credit for its design than he deserves. Allow the man to lay a foundation stone and he assumes he has built the theatre itself.” 

They walked through the entrance to a box that could only be described as lavish. Wainscoting lined the walls, velvet hangings were draped on either side for seclusion, and two rows of large brocade chairs overlooked the grand theatre before them. 

Susan motioned for Charlotte to lead the group as they sat in the front row, Sidney offering his arm to assist her. As they took their seats, she leaned forward to place a hand on the balustrade as she looked out upon the orchestra section below, drinking in their opulent surroundings, committing them to memory - and as she did so, Sidney watched from her left, a slight smile playing upon his lips as he registered how new this experience was for her.

“Enjoying yourself so far?” he asked, amused, and she turned to him, unable to mask her excitement.

“I haven’t been to the theatre before,” she said, eyes alight, her cheeks flushed.

“Not once?” he asked, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“They aren’t exactly abundant in Willingden,” she replied.

“And you never travelled to the city?” He rested his elbow upon the armrest of the chair, leaning closer to her.

“No,” she shook her head. “My father’s estate was not easily left, and with eleven siblings - well, travel was always a bit of a challenge, to say the least. So, we stayed at home, and the closest I ever got to a theatre performance was reading Shakespeare.”

He began to run his thumb along his lips in a manner that Charlotte found utterly distracting, but had also come to know as a common mannerism that indicated he was in deep thought, and then, out of thin air, she heard him speak, his voice lowered, soft enough so that only she could hear. “For where thou art, there is the world itself. And where thou art not, desolation.”

She smiled, and he watched the blush of her cheek travel down her neck as she looked down to her lap, raising the programme in her gloved hands. “Act III, is it not?”

He smiled fully, genuinely, happiness erupting from his very core at her response. “Well, Miss Heywood, I suppose we shall have to wait and see. But in the meantime, I am going to enjoy the experience of sitting next to you in a public place.”

“You aren’t accustomed to attending theatricals with young ladies?”

“On the contrary, I have attended many, Miss Heywood, but never with you.”

She looked away, lowering her gaze for the briefest of moments, blush intensifying, before looking back at him. “I am glad of the chance,” she said candidly, her eyes searching his.

He nodded, seemingly overcome as he leaned into her again, and in a whisper, he took his time speaking, as if the world had slowed for the purpose of him saying the words. “Whatever may happen, I will take this night with me for the rest of my life, knowing that I was here with you, to witness your first Shakespeare.”

As the lights dimmed over the crowd, the stage alight, emitting a glow upon their faces, Sidney reached out in the darkness, finding her hand without breaking his gaze from the stage, and squeezed it gently as the curtains were drawn to reveal the actors in their positions, the crowd erupting in applause as their hands silently communicated, and continued, ever moving through the first act, and the second, and the third.

\----------

As intermission began, Sidney felt a pull from his very core as he let go of Charlotte’s hand, as if he had lost a part of himself in the act of it. His thoughts turned reckless for the briefest of moments, damning the rules that society inflicted upon them, that he was in no position to have the right to simply hold her hand, in public or otherwise. 

“Parker, it appears that we have been summoned,” Babington called down the row to him, and he felt Charlotte stiffen next to him.

He turned to her, reaching instinctively for her arm, “Charlotte, what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head, “I just - well, it is one thing to come up with the idea and quite another to enact it.”

Babington leaned forward, looking to Charlotte. “Don’t you worry. He is an old friend, and not so intimidating as one might think.”

“Charlotte, do you remember what I told you at Mrs Maudsley’s rout, or must I repeat it in polite company?”

She flushed.

“Come on,” he said, dipping his head closer to her. “We don’t want to keep the Prince Regent waiting.”

Susan stepped out into what seemed to be the entire audience packed into a single wing, turning directly to the right, and the others followed, unsure of where exactly they were headed. 

Esther turned to reach for Charlotte as they manoeuvred into the corridor, and Babington slowed his pace to meet up with Sidney, a sly look upon his face. “I see that you and Miss Heywood are on better terms, then.”

“Thanks to you and Lady B, yes, we are.”

“We were informed of the most alarming story by our butler, Parker. Talk of running down the street. I hope you weren’t too winded by the time you reached her.”

“Oh, I was. No degree of proper exercise could have prepared me for that, especially in my state. But, not enough to prevent me from saying what needed to be said, and to grovel appropriately.”

“I take it you haven’t yet broken things off with your intended?” 

“I offered, but she persuaded me to wait - said she would not be responsible for even Tom’s ruin - which, Babington, if you had any doubt, should prove to you just how extraordinary she is.”

“I hadn’t a doubt in my mind, Parker, but what of Mrs C?”

“I plan to avoid her like the plague and track down investors as quickly as humanly possible.”

“So, seeing her at a large gathering like this would be out of the question?” Babington asked, reaching for Sidney’s arm.

“What?” He slowed his stride.

“Parker, forgive me in advance for what I am about to do,” Babington said before he pushed Sidney to his left, causing him to stumble behind one of the many wall hangings that lined the corridor.

Within seconds, someone else jetted through, the momentum pinning him back, and still in shock, he heard a most familiar voice say, “Mr Parker, what are you doing in here?”

“I have no earthly idea-” he started.

“Mrs Campion,” Esther said, louder than was necessary. “How _wonderful_ to see you.”

“Lady Babington, Lord Babington, what brings you to the theatre this evening? I did not realise that you frequented Covent Garden,” the unmistakable voice of Mrs Campion rang out above the din of the crowded corridor.

Sidney’s grip upon Charlotte tightened as they froze, tangled up in one another, a look of horror on Charlotte’s face as she peered down to the floor, her cheek grazing his shoulder, eyes frantically searching in the semi-darkness, wondering how much was exposed, and whether her skirts were entirely concealed.

“And if it isn’t Lady Worcester,” Babington’s voice boomed. “My dear, we seem to be running into acquaintances right and left this evening.” 

Sidney followed Charlotte’s gaze, noticing that the train of her dress was without a doubt, very visibly exposed, and had somehow managed to catch itself on the base of a statue. She moved into him in her panic, attempting to break free, and stopped suddenly, eyes wide as the wall hanging began to shift with her. 

“Yes, I have heard ever so much about your trip to Paris, Mrs Campion. I’m sure that it was very lovely, indeed,” Susan said, her voice heightened, “though I might have been tempted to lengthen my stay at this time of year. Tell me, are you planning to return before long?”

He brought a finger to his lips, sliding his hand along her skirt slowly, and reaching the back of her dress, he grasped a handful of satin and gauze, but she shook her head frantically, trying to communicate with him silently. 

“Lady Babington, I rather missed you at Mrs Milton’s the other evening. We must find time to catch up. I feel that there is so much that has occurred in London while I have been away, I hardly know where to start,” said Mrs Campion.

“Yes, I imagine we should, Mrs Campion,” said Esther, “and I’m sure that you have ever so much to share about your wedding plans.” 

“Tell me, Mrs Campion,” said Babington, “what brings you to this _particular_ wing of Covent Garden?”

“Why,” said Mrs Campion, “I am here along with every other member of the Beau Monde. We always come calling when the Prince Regent is to make an appearance.”

“Is that so?” Susan asked, “I had not heard that he intended to make a public appearance this evening.”

“It seems that the crowds are increasing, Babington,” Esther remarked, nervously.

“But of course,” said Mrs Campion, “if His Highness is to appear, he will emerge from the very entrance behind you.”

Charlotte’s panicked expression seemed to double in severity as she became more aware of their surroundings - namely the ornate door that they were currently pressed against - and Sidney, who had just determined that the best course of action was to remain absolutely still until Mrs Campion was well on her way bit his lower lip and took a breath, realising that he must do precisely what he had told himself not to a moment before.

He met her eyes and gave her an apologetic look, his heart beginning to race wildly at the thought of what was about to occur, and what the consequences might be if he could not complete the task quickly enough. He moved each of her hands to the stone arch behind him, her arms extended on either side of his neck, and with one last look at her, he gripped her waist and lowered himself to the floor before her, bracing his shoulder against her legs, the fabric of her dress brushing against his cheek, and he willed himself to think of anything other than where he was as he reached out to unhook the fabric.

But, a new and far more pressing distraction awaited them both as an unfamiliar set of voices approached the other side of the door, the sound of footsteps upon the marble floor halting mere inches away.

“Tell me, Mrs Campion,” said Susan’s voice, “who told you that the Prince would emerge from this entrance? I am under the impression that he prefers another.”

“Well then, Lady Worcester, perhaps you must find a more reliable source,” she said with mock sincerity, “I have seen it with my own eyes.” 

Charlotte brought a hand down to grip his shoulder, her fingers digging into him as she had clearly heard the same set of voices. He looked up at her, suddenly unsure of what to do next when they both heard, “Damn it all, I’ve forgotten my sash. Garrison? Garrison? Where has he gone off to...”

A hesitant voice answered him from a distance, "Pardon, your Highness. But, it seems that Lady Worcester has requested your presence in the King's box."

“She has, has she. Tell her I shan't be very long.”

“There is...one more message. The... Babingtons also wish to see you.”

“Really?? Babbers at Covent Garden?”

Sidney reached out to the very edge of the wall hanging, slowly lifting and releasing one layer of fabric, then the next, from what he now saw was a lever, likely designed to open the very hangings they were concealed behind when the Prince Regent decided to make an entrance. 

They heard the very man's footsteps move further away, as if Susan had been reeling him back into the King's box, and at last, Charlotte’s grip on his shoulder lessened and he began to breathe again. 

They both exhaled sighs of relief, and then he felt her body begin to spasm in silent laughter. He followed, unable to stop the grin that broke out upon his face, and her hand gripped his shoulder again, supporting him as his body shook. She helped him to his feet slowly, guiding him upwards and when he was standing before her once more, she mouthed a silent “thank you”. 

They stood, his hand at her waist, her hand upon his chest, heartbeats increasing as the conversation continued, the greater danger averted. He moved his hand upwards, fingertips tracing a path along the fabric of her dress and down her arm until he reached her hand. He turned it, palm side up, and lifted it slowly to his mouth, placing a kiss upon her gloved wrist, her pulse racing as he made contact. 

“Parker? You still back there?” Babington whispered. 

“Is it safe to come out, Babington?” he called.

“Yes, one at a time, now.”

“After you, my dear,” he said, not quite able to move, and he noticed that she remained still for a few seconds longer than was necessary, looking up at him, before saying with a coy smile, “Always the gentleman, Mr Parker.” 

"Hardly when you are near, but know that I am trying.”

She grinned, backing away from him to look out from the edge of their hiding place, finding an opportune moment to release herself unnoticed back into the throng, and he waited, catching his breath for a moment before doing the very same. 


	35. Chapter 35

They had been mere steps away from the King’s box during the encounter with Mrs Campion, and Babington ushered them almost protectively toward the doors at the very end of the corridor, looking over his shoulder for the sudden appearance of the very person they wished to avoid, and breathed an audible sigh of relief as soon as the doors were closed behind them.

Susan led them through a private saloon to a much grander box than the others, perhaps even triple the size. Sidney noticed immediately that the Prince Regent had clearly settled in and did not rise from his chair, which resembled a throne more than anything, as they entered the box. For a moment, he began to dread that the Prince was in a mood, but he turned as they approached, and his face transformed into a jovial expression. “Why, Lady Susan!” he exclaimed, “I was just informed that you were here this evening. Now, this is a pleasant surprise, pleasant indeed. And the Babingtons! Well met!”

“Your Highness, I have brought some very special guests with me this evening - friends I have been hoping to introduce you to for some time,” Susan said in her calm manner.

“Could this be your Miss Heywood?” he asked, his eyes turning to where Charlotte and Sidney stood, her hand upon his arm, “And who is this young man?”

“Miss Charlotte Heywood and Mr Sidney Parker, may I introduce you to His Royal Highness the Prince Regent,” Susan said, and they stepped forward to greet him with a bow and curtsy.

“Parker, eh?” the Prince said, his eyes twinkling. “It seems that everyone I encounter of late goes on about your town. Sanditon, is it not?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Charlotte interjected, and the Prince Regent moved his gaze to her.

“And you are fond of the town, Miss Heywood?”

“Yes, very much,” she said quickly, “I believe it is the loveliest place I have had the pleasure to see.” 

“Now, that is high praise, Miss Heywood - high praise, indeed.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” Sidney picked up, “Miss Heywood is not one to give high praise willingly, so allow that to be a testament to the town itself.”

“I have been assisting Miss Heywood and Mr Parker of late to help find investors for Sanditon. We all have,” said Susan, glancing toward the Babingtons.

“Have you, now? What sort of investors?” 

“We are hoping to draw more people for seasonal events and, we hope, to buy or rent properties there,” said Charlotte.

“I see, and tell me, what might a town like Sanditon have to offer that Brighton does not?”

“What would a town be without the people in it?” Charlotte asked, and Sidney turned to her with a look of admiration. “I have not travelled as often as many, Your Highness, but I do know that Sanditon has among its residents some of the kindest, most welcoming people I have ever met in my life. I have wished only to go back, from the moment I left.”

“I can think of no better praise than that, Miss Heywood, and coming from such a lady as yourself, I must say that I am more inclined to believe such praise without having seen it myself. Very intriguing, indeed.”

Charlotte flushed, stepping back slightly as if she had only come to realise exactly who she had spoken to, and was unable to continue.

“And what of you, Mr Parker? Were you raised in Sanditon?” the Prince asked.

“Indeed, Your Highness, I was.”

“And do you find it as charming a place as Miss Heywood?”

“Miss Heywood has succeeded in reminding me of its allurements, Your Highness,” he said, glancing at Charlotte. “I believe that I have seen it through a new set of eyes as of late, and I find it a most inviting place of staggering beauty.” 

"And Babbers? What are your thoughts?"

Babington stepped forward, his arm hooked through Esther's. "Seeing that it is the town where I met my wife, I have nothing but fondness for it," he met Esther's gaze, "In fact, we wish to spend our summers there."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and as someone who has spent considerable time in Brighton, I can attest that Sanditon is like no other town on the coast. We shall be very happy there, and always willing to entertain should you wish to visit."

The Prince Regent smiled at him, "I shall consider the invitation, Babington. Brighton is a wonderful place, there is no doubting it, but one does like to travel along the coast every so often to take in the sights." His eyes flicked to Susan, and the very corner of her mouth lifted into a slight smile that travelled up to her eyes.

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful," said Babington. "You are most welcome, old friend."

“Thank you, Babbers. Mr Parker, Miss Heywood, it was a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, indicating their time had come to a close. Sidney offered his arm to Charlotte and she drew it closer to her body than she intended until it was up against her ribcage. She kept it pressed against her so closely that he could feel the rapid pulsing of her heart as they all moved toward the door. “Susan," the Prince called out, turning in his chair, "before you go, might I have a word.” The rest of the group stepped out into the private saloon, the doors closing briefly behind them. Seconds later, she emerged, giving no indication of what had just occurred, and instead met them with her usual, “Shall we?” as she set off in the direction of the box. 

They made it back undetected, without an additional Mrs Campion sighting, much to both Sidney and Babington’s relief, and took to their former seats. 

"Miss Heywood," Sidney leaned onto the armrest, looking down at her, "I must say that speech of yours was impressive, to say the least.”

She looked at him, astonished, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am very serious,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You could sell an entire town on your own, I am convinced.”

"I was terrified," she confided.

"I can assure you that you hid it very well."

“I believe your perspective has been muddled, Mr Parker. Was our encounter behind the wall hanging or whatever that was a bit too much for you?”

She felt the heat from his body as he flushed, biting his lower lip as a grin spread across his face, “On the contrary, Miss Heywood, I would hope for nothing more than to have many more encounters with you outside the King’s entrance.”

“The King’s entrance?”

“Yes, the Prince Regent has a separate entrance, and I believe that we had a more intimate view than most,” he smiled, mischievously, and she grinned back at him.

“I hadn’t a clue what was happening. I saw you disappear, and then before I knew, Esther had sent me in after you. I thought it was some strange matchmaking scheme.”

“Well, Miss Heywood," he said, glancing down the row at the Babingtons, "I wouldn’t put it past them. Perhaps we must be on our guard from now on.”

“Perhaps. Or,” she said, brushing absently at her gown, "we could trust their judgement."

"Yes, valid point. They are a trustworthy sort, and certainly have our best interests in mind," he said, lowering his voice, "Do you know, Babington even offered his home as a meeting place for us once."

"When we-"

"Yes."

"And you declined?"

"Yes, well," he seemed flustered as he shifted in his chair, "arranging secret meetings seemed a dangerous idea."

"Always concerned for my reputation," she smiled, coyly.

"It is one of the few things left that keeps me thinking sensibly, Miss Heywood. Even tonight, I have wondered..."

He glanced down, rubbing distractedly at his jaw until she reached her hand out to touch his arm. "What? What is it?"

He looked back up at her, pausing, "...what might happen if we risked everything."

She paused as well, a smile playing upon her lips. "I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought the same," she said, "but it would be a reckless path to take - for you to end it before we had any assurance."

Sidney smiled, looking down to his hands, “Very well, Miss Heywood. Then I shall wait.” he said, almost sadly.

“It is the wisest course of action, and I cannot risk the alternative. Neither of us could.” 

“Right, as always, but it does not make the interim any easier to endure.”

"It is but a matter of weeks."

"To start, yes. But how long after must we wait?" 

She looked upon him sympathetically, not used to seeing him quite so vulnerable. “Have you not realised? I am not going anywhere.”

She rested her elbow upon the armrest as the lights began to dim, leaning into his arm with her own in the darkness, feeling the warmth emanate from his body to hers - and as she turned her attention to the stage, he extended one finger, then another, until they reached hers. 


	36. Chapter 36

Lady Worcester sat calmly through most of the final act, eyes occasionally peering at the other boxes within view, attempting to make out familiar faces - one, in particular - among the private boxes in their wing. But visible as the crowd was, bathed in the light from the stage, the one face she sought did not appear. Even so, something must be done to prevent any chance of their party being found out. That woman was nothing short of a threat.

She waited silently for the final scene to start, and as the familiar words were spoken upon the stage, Lady Susan decided to act. Rising from her chair, she moved down the row, tapping each of her guests on the shoulder, waiting longest to interrupt Charlotte's euphoria as she listened intently to the final lines - and by the time the crowd applauded the performance, Charlotte, Susan, Sidney and the Babingtons were moving hurriedly along the corridor in the direction of the grand staircase.

“I haven't a clue where Mrs Campion is seated this evening,” Susan remarked, looking over her shoulder only to see Babington do the very same as they began to overhear the animated chatter of the private box occupants, about to emerge at any moment.

But instead of increasing her already breakneck pace to outrun them, Susan began to slow down until she came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, as if struck.

“Yes, yes, of _course_..." she murmured, "I had nearly forgotten."

"What is it?" Charlotte asked, hurriedly.

"I believe I may know of a shortcut.” She turned around, glancing conspiratorially at Sidney and Charlotte, “And you two might find it a familiar sight, I daresay.”

She resumed her former pace, rushing back in the direction of the private box, and after a brief exchange of bewildered glances, the group followed her. She veered off to the left, stopping in front of a very familiar sight, and stepped behind a statue. They watched as, hands resting on either side of it, she moved the very lever that Charlotte's dress had been caught upon - one embroidered slipper peeking out from her gown to do the task - and in an instant, the wall hanging parted as if of its own accord, revealing the ornate door that Sidney and Charlotte had been pressed against earlier that very evening. “The King’s entrance,” Charlotte whispered, not quite able to meet Sidney’s eye.

"Yes," Susan said, amused, "Very impressive, is it not? Now, if I remember correctly..." She faded off as she felt for something hidden in a crevice behind the statue, then, "Ah, there it is!" she said triumphantly as she shifted a second lever. In a single motion, the ornate door opened to reveal a corridor beyond - the secret entry used by the Prince Regent, himself.

But rather than rush through the doorway, the group stared in silent wonder. "Did I just see what I think I saw," Babington whispered to Sidney.

"Most likely, yes," Sidney whispered back. "She's a bloody sorceress, Babbers, I'm convinced of it."

"What?" Susan asked, as if she had merely completed a perfunctory task and nothing more, "Do you think that they would have designed such an entrance without considering the possibility that a quick exit might be needed?"

"I'm rather beginning to wonder if there is anything you don't know, Lady Worcester," said Esther, in awe.

"She does have that effect on people," Charlotte chimed in.

"Yes, well, one advantage of many to being closely acquainted with the Prince. Come along, now, and quickly,” Susan glanced back over her shoulder as she guided them through the doorway, one by one. “I won’t have anyone disrupting the rest of our evening. We have much to discuss.”

\----------

Having safely exited Covent Garden, the party reunited at Weston Place shortly thereafter and were sent to the library upon their arrival. The group sat together before the roaring fire, glasses of Madeira and port in hand as Susan paced about the room, the cogs of her mind turning as everyone else waited, the evening's events still fresh in their minds and the anticipation growing by the second. 

“I can't go on a moment longer,” Charlotte spouted at last, “You must tell us how it went.”

“Mmm?” Susan asked, very clearly deep in thought.

“With the Prince Regent? He asked to meet with you privately...” 

“Yes, of course,” she smiled, distractedly. “It was not as thorough a discussion as I had hoped - but he certainly conveyed that he was quite taken with you.”

Sidney placed a protective hand upon Charlotte’s arm. “How taken?” he asked, quickly.

“Oh, goodness no. Nothing like that,” Susan waved a hand dismissively as a grin spread across her face, and Sidney exhaled audibly. “I believe that you staked your claim quite well, there, Mr Parker. He was quite taken with you both, you see.”

“Was he?” Charlotte asked, her fingers tapping nervously on the glass in her hands.

“Yes, but the difficulty is, that convincing him to invest - which is what I hope to do - will be slightly more complicated than I had anticipated. He has already invested heavily in Brighton, and it may take more time than we have presently to convince him that another town is worthy of his attentions. You see, in this instance, I believe that the Prince is more likely to take the fashionable option rather than set the standard. He is aware that I plan to spend the summer months in Sanditon rather than Brighton, which will help our cause considerably, but it is time to convince other members of the Beau Monde that Sanditon is worthy of their time. If they decide to move on to a new town, perhaps he will follow. And if he doesn't, hopefully, we can raise the necessary funds by making Sanditon fashionable ourselves.”

“How do you propose that we proceed?” Sidney asked.

"That is what I hope to figure out tonight," said Susan.

“We could host a tea or a musicale, perhaps, at Worthing House,” Esther proposed, "and invite the members of the ton we are acquainted with." Babington reached for her hand and squeezed it in silent approval of the idea.

“Yes, now that's a start," said Susan, "I believe that it is time to enlist Charlotte’s plan, so Esther, any event intended for ladies of our acquaintance would be lovely. I shall do the same. We could easily host an afternoon event at Weston Place. We must invite every lady we know, and have them bring others.”

"Do you think...“ Charlotte started, "Well, I wonder whether it might be time to write to Mary and Tom. If we are to begin promoting Sanditon for the summer season, we will need to have a better idea of events that could draw more people to the town.”

Susan stopped her pacing and exchanged a look with Sidney, who responded with a slight shake of his head. But she challenged him back, tilting her head adamantly in Charlotte's direction, causing Sidney to shift nervously in his chair before speaking out, "Of that...I have some information, Charlotte."

"What is it? Has...something happened?" she looked between the two of them.

"Mary has recently travelled to London," Sidney said, rubbing at his jaw, "She has been staying at Bedford Place, in fact."

"She...what?" Charlotte looked at him, her expression almost crestfallen. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"It has occurred only recently, and to be entirely honest, she has been in need of some...time..."

"Time for what?"

"Time away from my brother, Charlotte," he whispered, his gaze flicking over to Babington.

"Oh..." she looked away, and yet seemed to be more perplexed than ever.

"Perhaps," Susan interjected, "we might invite Mary to visit Weston Place for an afternoon to discuss more on the subject."

"Yes," Charlotte agreed, "If there is even the chance that she is in low spirits, I should like to do my best to help in whatever way I can."

Sidney nodded at her, “Right...I shall speak to her about it. She may be ready for just that. As for Sanditon, I do have some information pertaining to that as well. At the moment, my brother has planned weekly balls and card playing at the Assembly Rooms, the second annual regatta, and cricket, of course.”

“Susan, what are your thoughts? Would that be enough to entice friends of yours to visit?” Charlotte asked.

“In all honesty, I think that members of the ton may wish for more amusements.”

“What would you suggest?” she asked.

“Well, perhaps a masquerade ball or a fancy-dress affair would be a draw. A country fair or festival, and any chance for ladies to be seen.”

“A promenade at the Assembly Rooms?” Esther suggested.

“Oh yes, that would do very well,” said Susan. “Perhaps a concert or two. They must have travelling musicians who could perform in the town.”

“Yes, we have had them in the past. It could be done again,” said Sidney.

“That would do very well, Mr Parker. And what of entertainment for the men?”

“Gambling, sea bathing, ample opportunity for riding and shooting, and dancing, of course,” Babington chimed in, looking to his wife.

"And Dr Fuchs might also be a draw for some," said Sidney.

"Oh, Lord," said Esther, rolling her eyes, "he could drain an entire inheritance."

"Yes, perhaps," Sidney replied, "but I admit to being somewhat converted where Dr Fuchs is concerned."

Babington glanced over at him, then at Charlotte, curious. "Yes," responded Charlotte, "Mr Parker and I witnessed it, ourselves, did we not? With Mr Stringer's injury."

"So we did," Sidney said, quietly, "a fine example of his skill in the surgery if there ever was one."

“Well then, Mr Parker," Susan said, "perhaps it is time to set some plans in motion. I will volunteer to provide any additional funding to host special events, should you require it.”

“We are more than willing to help on that front as well, your Ladyship,” Babington said.

“Very well, Lord Babington, we shall go in on it together,” she gave him a nod. “Now, there is one last thing that I feel we should go over. Mr Parker, might you provide us with an indication of how your brother will receive such help?”

“With enthusiasm,” he responded, unable to mask his amusement, “but he may require persuading as far as the events and how they are to transpire. He has a tendency to put every ounce of his energy in the projects he pursues, your Ladyship, and unfortunately, that also means there is little room for the energy of others.”

“I see,” said Susan. “Would you and Charlotte feel comfortable keeping an eye on things for the sake of the investors in the room?”

“Certainly, your Ladyship," he said, looking to Charlotte, who assented, "We might keep an eye on things, reign him in when it is needed, and I would be prepared to take full control of the financials, should you wish it.”

“From what I have heard, it may be for the best,” said Susan. “Allow your brother to focus on the events themselves, which I believe is where he is most suited. I would never wish to pull a dreamer down from his perch, but perhaps we could harness his talents in a way that is more beneficial to our cause.”

The group answered in near unison at the thought, and Charlotte, as she often did, looked upon Susan as akin to an ethereal being, so impressed was she with her insightfulness. She had known them for mere weeks and yet was able to propose a solution that was both fitting and sensible. A solution that could very well work if they could get Tom on board with it.

“One more thing,” Charlotte interjected. “We should allow Mary to join our efforts...if she is feeling up to it. I know that she would be very gifted at it, and well, I always sensed that she wished to help Tom more than he would allow her to. She was always kept at arm’s length, and I very much wish to include her this time.”

Another look was exchanged between Sidney and Lady Susan which Charlotte was not quite able to interpret before she said, “Mr Parker, do you have any objections to this?”

“Not at all, Lady Worcester,” said Sidney, breaking eye contact, “I can say with assurance that she is as capable as they come, and would be a fine addition to our group. But, I feel I must mention that, if he were to find out, there is a great chance that my brother will be eager to assist us in all aspects of our planning.”

“Then that is a risk, Mr Parker, we must be willing to take.”

\----------

Mr Parker and the Babingtons stayed on at Weston Place late into the evening, sitting before the warmth of the fire, recounting the events that led to their successful escape from the dreaded Mrs C, and what lay before them in the days ahead. As the clock struck Midnight, the Babingtons called for their carriage to be readied and Susan proceeded to see their guests out.

Sidney took his time getting up from his chair, moving almost reluctantly to the table to dispose of his glass, and looking over his shoulder to make sure they were the only two left in the room, he paused, steps away from Charlotte. “I must ask…” he said, fading off almost shyly, “...was it what you hoped it would be?”

“Was what?”

“Our evening at Covent Garden.” He fiddled with the empty glass in his hands, not quite meeting her eye as if to spare himself the disappointment he was certain she had felt.

“It was," she smiled, taking the glass out of his hands and placing it on the table next to them, searching her mind for the word to describe it, “everything.”

He met her gaze, the relief in his expression apparent, “Even with-”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes brightening, “In the end, we had nothing short of a memorable encounter, did we not?”

He flushed, biting his lower lip, smiling at the floor, “Yes, well, I shan’t forget it anytime soon, Miss Heywood.”

“That’s a relief,” she laughed, “because I will never allow you to. Although, there is something else that I can't seem to get out of my mind. The secret meetings...”

“Yes?” 

“I believe I missed part of the last act for thinking of it.”

A flicker of a smile passed his lips, "Are you saying I distracted you, Miss Heywood."

"I got rather caught up wondering where you imagined them taking place."

“What makes you think they wouldn’t yet take place?” he murmured under his breath.

“You called the idea dangerous. I heard you say the very word.”

"Yes, well, it was reckless of Babington to even propose it."

"And yet you brought it to my attention. I might never have known about your recklessness."

"Perhaps I wanted you to know."

She paused. "Then why not be truly reckless and tell me what you planned."

“Because some things are better off seen, Miss Heywood,” he said, leaning in to close the space between them, his mouth next to her ear, “and perhaps one day I intend to show you, myself.”

She felt the heat rise up from her chest as he kissed her wrist, in the very same place he had outside the King’s entrance, and for the briefest of moments, she forgot to breathe.


	37. Chapter 37

Sidney alighted from the Babingtons' carriage that evening, sounds of laughter escaping as he departed somewhat unsteadily, and wished his companions well on their return journey to Worthing House. After watching the carriage merge back into the sea of traffic returning from various evening events, he turned away from the street and took the final few steps to the front door of Bedford Place, elated exhaustion overtaking him as he finally stepped across the threshold, greeted by the familiar sounds and scents of home. 

“Master Parker,” Linton said, emerging from the door that led to the servants quarters, a note of relief in his voice as he reached for Sidney’s coat and hat, “did you...enjoy your evening?” 

“Immensely, Linton,” Sidney said, no longer attempting to suppress the smile upon his face. “The performance was...memorable,” he said, his gaze flicking to the floor, the colour upon his cheeks deepening until it could no longer be mistaken for the chill from the carriage ride.

“Indeed,” said Linton, his eyes brightening, “and how is Miss Heywood?”

“How did you-”

“Mrs Parker may have mentioned it,” he said, beaming, “I remember her well - from her previous visit to Bedford Place. She was...a very admirable young lady,” he said, wistfully.

“If I didn't know better, Linton, I might have guessed that you fancied her, yourself,” Sidney broke into a wide smile, chuckling at this uncharacteristically ardent display of affection as Linton's ears turned pink. 

“Yes, well, I could not have chosen better for you, Master Parker.”

“You do realise that I am still engaged to another.”

“Oh, that,” he said dismissively, “a pesky obstacle and nothing more. I have never seen you quite so happy, nor so miserable since you returned to London. You will find a way where Miss Heywood is concerned.”

“That is...very bold of you to say,” said Sidney, a shocked laugh escaping his lips.

“Forward, perhaps, but honest, above all else, Sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right. I do appreciate your honesty...and your accuracy,” he added, amused.

“Of course, Sir,” he bowed, “Although I would much rather speak of your Miss Heywood, there is something else I must tell you - something that took place this afternoon.”

“Did she call after I left?”

“Yes, she arrived just as you predicted, Sir. Mentioned something about going to Covent Garden for the evening, which rather alarmed me. I’m glad you didn’t happen to see her there.”

“No, we...just managed to avoid her,” he said, another grin breaking out upon his face before he could prevent it. “And you were consistent with the story?”

“Yes, Sir. I revealed that you are travelling to Sanditon and are unlikely to return for several days. I also may have mentioned more details than she cared to hear about building sites. By the time I brought up Cornish stone, as you suggested, Sir, she was quite ready to be rid of me.”

“Good man, Linton,” he said, patting his arm affectionately. “If we play our cards just right, we may get out of this yet." He began walking toward the staircase, a slight yawn escaping him as another wave of exhaustion hit.

“There is...one more thing,” said Linton, hesitantly, and Sidney halted, turning back to him, suddenly uneasy.

“Yes?” 

“Mrs Parker received a letter by courier some hours ago. She has been holed up in the study all evening, and has yet to emerge.”

“Did you happen to see where it came from?"

“Yes...it arrived from Trafalgar House. She appears to be in a great deal of distress.”

Sidney shifted, his expression serious as he changed direction and proceeded down the corridor. “Thank you, Linton,” he called over his shoulder, “I will handle it from here.”

Mary sat behind the large oak desk in the Bedford Place study that had so often been occupied by Sidney over the past few months, feverishly shifting stacks of papers when Sidney knocked quietly upon the partially opened door.

She stopped abruptly, startled at the sound, and her head shot up as if caught in the act, “Sidney…”

“Mary,” he greeted cautiously, “are you...all right? Linton just mentioned the letter from Trafalgar House.”

“Oh just…” she said, moving yet more papers around, “organising the space a bit.”

“Organising? You do know that I had a system in place,” he said, “and that it is well past Midnight.”

“Y-yes,” she said, breathing in suddenly, “I...just...needed something to distract…” 

Her face crumpled, sobs coursing through her body, as she leaned forward to rest her head upon a precariously balanced stack, and Sidney rushed across the room, kneeling next to her. “Mary...” he reached his hand out to rest on her shoulder, failing to find the words to ask what his brother had done to her this time.

She did not lift her head from the stack of papers as her body shook silently beneath his hand.

“It is my own doing. I should not have left her,” she murmured, her voice muffled, wobbling.

“So it is not-”

Mary lifted her head, “She was all alone. Of _course_ she would have tried to get away. I should have sensed it.”

“Mary,” he said, heart rate quickening as his hand became frozen in place upon her shoulder, “what is your meaning...”

“How could I not have seen it?,” she continued, angrily, “After the document surfaced, she was terrified of being taken again. And then I left her - in the care of Mrs Griffiths, no less, and now she-”

His breath hitched in his throat, the room beginning to feel as if it were falling beneath his feet as dread swept through his body, settling deep, “Georgiana.”

Her head lowered as if the weight was too much to bear, a fresh sob escaping her, “Yes, the letter...was from Tom.”

“Tom...” he echoed.

“H-he has gone in search of her, with a few of his men,” she said, turning to face him, sorrow and concern etched upon every feature, “Sidney, Georgiana disappeared two days ago.”


	38. Chapter 38

Mary remained seated behind the large desk at Bedford Place, shuffling through her collection of letters - studying, seeking clues, anything to gather information about where Georgiana may have gone, and what her motives may have been. 

“Do we wait?” Sidney asked her after they had drifted off into silent deliberation, the crackling of the fire and ticking of the clock amplified in the stillness. 

“That depends,” said Mary, quietly. “How likely do you think it is that she was headed in our direction?”

“Or that-” he cut off suddenly, rubbing at his eyes as if he might erase the very thought, “-she left of her own accord.”

“I feel sick just thinking of it,” said Mary, bringing a hand up to her forehead, “do you think that someone else might have taken her?”

“And carried her off to Scotland? We’ve heard nothing of Otis Molyneux for months - not since she was taken last.”

“But someone else? Someone who might need the money.”

“Yes, but who might she know to be capable of such-” He stilled, eyes searching back and forth as he stared ahead at the fire, and then he exhaled as if in defeat. “Mary...has Tom mentioned any sightings of Edward Denham?”

“No, of course not. He hasn't been seen since the fire.” 

“And since he was disowned by Lady Denham. I wouldn't have thought it some months ago, but now, after hearing more about how he treated Esther...it may be possible.”

“Well, we should not rule it out, by any means,” said Mary, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper, “As for his whereabouts, Lady Denham might be informed.”

“Gather what information you can, but I fear that the deed will have been done.”

"We must try, all the same."

"Yes. Yes, of course. It is possible he may be holding her, though I think it unlikely he would hold her for very long."

“Might we obtain the information we seek faster if I return to Sanditon and speak with Lady Denham?” Mary stopped writing, focusing her attention on Sidney.

“I fear it would not be obtained fast enough. I might find leads on Edward Denham in London that are far more current than what Lady Denham knows within hours. And as for Georgiana, it is unlikely that she would be anywhere in the vicinity of Sanditon after two days. We are likely closer in proximity to her as we are.” 

“Yes, of course...unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless we speak of the one possibility we have yet to broach - and yet it is one that has been present in my mind since I first heard the news. Sidney, she was not happy there. She is young and impulsive, had been left by all whom she had formed an attachment with. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to escape to the clifftops and-”

He sank forward, elbows meeting knees in his spot before the fire, staring into the flames. “Do you really think she would?”

“I couldn't say... but I do know what it is like to be a young woman - to be faced with the world as it is. And Georgiana-” she breathed in, sharply, “I have seen how she is treated. I can only imagine what she has been made to feel.”

“But she has such strength.”

“Even the strongest among us have moments of powerlessness. You, of all people, should know that.”

“So what, you think she jumped off a bloody cliff? Just like that?”

“There are many possibilities, Sidney. I’m merely trying to think through them.”

“Good God, Mary,” he said, his voice breaking. He stood and began pacing about the room, needing to move. 

“I realise that it is not a thought that you wish to entertain, Sidney, but we must weigh every possibility if we are to solve this - if we are to have any hope of saving her - even the possibilities that couldn't bring her back to us.”

“There must be others. Please, can we move on... I cannot dwell on this a moment longer or I will be of no use to anyone.”

“All right,” she continued, calmly, “What if she decided to come to London? To help our cause?”

“Why would she have done so and not informed either of us?” He continued pacing, the edge in his voice still more present than he intended it to be.

“For fear that we would deny her the chance.”

“It is possible, to be sure, but the timing is all off. She would be in London already - would have been for hours.”

A familiar sound echoed down the silent corridor, meeting their ears once...twice...three times. Sidney stopped his pacing, looking wide-eyed across the room at Mary as the familiar sound met their ears a second time - faster, more insistent. He glanced over at the long-case clock in the corner of the room. It was past two o’clock in the morning, and someone was knocking on the front door of Bedford Place.


	39. Chapter 39

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The front door of Bedford Place rattled under the weight of each heavy blow as Sidney Parker peered through the window, trying to make out who the mysterious figure on their doorstep might be. He swore under his breath at the irony of living in a neighbourhood that was well lit with frequently placed gas lamps - more than most any place in London - and yet, he could not make out the figure at his own door. He turned to Mary, silently consulting her as she placed a hand upon his arm, her expression uncertain. “I have to, Mary. I won’t risk having any information pass us by - not now,” he whispered, placing a hand upon hers, “If anything should happen to me, go to Linton. Don’t look, just run.”

“Yes,” she nodded, trembling, “Yes, of course.”

She gripped onto his arm as he pulled away, her hand sliding down his shirtsleeve, releasing him reluctantly as he strode across the entrance hall to the door. He breathed in once, twice, then opened it in one swift motion, ready to react. 

“Urgent correspondence for Mr Parker of Bedford Place,” said a decidedly non-threatening voice.

Sidney let out the breath he had been holding. “Yes, you have reached the correct address,” he said, heart pounding as he reached for the letter. The man, who Sidney now noticed was rather short and portly, tipped his hat as he walked back toward the small horse he had left on the street, and Sidney closed and locked the door as if someone else might jump out from the periphery at any moment, leaning against it in relief.

Mary darted across the entrance hall, arriving at his side. “Who is it from?” she asked, urgently, and Sidney opened his eyes, remembering the letter in his hand. 

He flipped it over, holding it up to the moonlight, squinting at the handwriting, before he turned to Mary in confusion. “I think it’s from Diana.”

“Come,” said Mary, her heart filling with dread as she moved down the corridor, “into the light,” and Sidney rushed after her in the darkness.

Back in the study, the dimming light of the fire lending just enough to read, Sidney broke the familiar seal and unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the page, brow furrowing in confusion. “Arthur... " he murmured, meeting her gaze, "has gone missing."

“What?” she breathed, and reached for the letter. The writing was scrawled out hurriedly upon the page - as if the hand that wrote it had been shaking considerably. “But...Arthur was in Hampshire with Diana. This makes absolutely no sense.”

Something appeared to dawn upon Sidney, "They were writing to one another. Georgiana mentioned it...when I was recovering," he recalled quietly, shaking his head as anger and disappointment began to build.

“But...what on earth would they be doing that would cause them to just _run off_?”

“Fairly obvious, isn’t it? Something we wouldn’t approve of,” he growled.

“I didn’t think him capable of leaving Diana in the dark like that,” Mary said, “If we are correct and they somehow found a way to meet - well, I suppose we must start to think of where they might have gone…”

Sidney ran his fingers irritatedly through his hair, his eyes appearing bloodshot even in the firelight, “And whether or not they could be travelling in our direction.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

They both whirled around. “You can't be serious,” Sidney said, anger apparent in his tone as he gritted his teeth.

“Sidney...do you think it might be-”

“If it is,” he said, fuming as he stepped out into the corridor, “they had better be ready for a less than friendly greeting.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yes, I can bloody well hear you,” he snapped as he walked to the door, opening it sharply. But Arthur and Georgiana were not upon the doorstep as he had half expected to see. 

“A letter for-”

“For Mr Parker of Bedford Place. Yes. That would be me.” He snatched the letter from the courier, turning it over and angling it to catch the light from the street.

“Is it from Diana? Perhaps they have been found.” Mary asked.

“No...Tom couldn’t wait until morning to send us news, apparently,” he said, closing the door and locking it once again.

“Sidney, it could be serious,” Mary reasoned.

“However serious it may be, I cannot justify the actions of two _juveniles_ who are out to have a bit of fun to the detriment of those closest to them. Do they not realise how little time we have?”

“Let’s just read the letter,” Mary sighed, knowing there was little she might do at this point to improve his mood. 

They went back into the light of the study, spreading out the two pages that Tom had sent them as they hunched over the desk, side-by-side, to examine them.

“Oh, this is just perfect,” Sidney shouted, turning away to pace again. 

“You don’t know for certain that is where she went,” Mary cried, becoming equally as angry.

“She was not meant to be in contact with him at all, Mary, and yet she had _dozens_ of letters in her possession?” he shook the page of the letter he had been holding, gripping it so tightly in his hand that it began to crumple. "Why, when we are so close to a solution - why would she do this to me?"

“So what, you think they went off to Gretna Green?”

“I have no idea what to think anymore. I _thought_ she could be trusted,” he seethed, rubbing at his sleep-deprived eyes irritatedly.

“Sidney...you do not know that she hasn’t been taken against her will. Or that she could be in danger of it at any moment.”

“This still doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” he exhaled in frustration as he squeezed his septum, “What role would Arthur have to play in all of this if they were off to Gretna Green?”

Mary looked to the fire, biting her lip as she contemplated, “Might this be the lesser of two evils?”

“What?”

“After she discovered the forged document, she was terrified of being taken again, Sidney, I know she was. If she was under threat of being held against her will, of being in the custody of someone other than you, perhaps this was a way of taking matters into her own hands - of choosing a way out that would eliminate the risk. To make a choice that was her own, not someone else’s.”

"And give away any freedoms she may have had to a man? Charles Bicknell gave his word that she was in no danger of being harmed - that he would see to it."

"Yes, of course, but how much of Charles Bicknell's assurances was she privy to? And would someone in her position truly believe that all was solved? Would she trust in a solicitor she had never met or consulted with herself - when she has every right not to trust a soul, let alone a stranger?"

“So she is to marry Otis Molyneux to avoid a mess of my own creation.” Sidney slumped down into the chair before the dying fire, flames depleting, coals dimming by the second, "for the purpose of escaping a fate that is worse."

“We know nothing for sure, Sidney, I am merely trying to get into her head,” Mary said, sitting next to him.

“But still, what of Arthur? Are the two even related?”

“Their bond may be recently formed, but I believe that he would go to great lengths to protect her, even if it took him well outside his realm of comfort.”

“So he might have discovered her plan and gone after her - to convince her not to-”

“Precisely.”

Sidney stood, jittery, dishevelled, cogitating as he moved about the room absorbed in his thoughts, the sound of his boots upon the floor landing in time to the ticking of the clock as he circled - and then he came to, decided. “Mary...I need you to ring the servant’s bell for Linton.”

“Sidney, the servants are all asleep.”

“Yes, I realise that, but we haven’t a moment to lose. We may have only theories now, but I cannot simply stand by and wait."

"What are you saying?"

"Stay. Wait for any news that may arrive and I hope to God they will show up on our doorstep, but if that isn't the case-"

"You wish to chase after them, do you?"

"I have to do _something_ , Mary,” He walked to the door of the study.

“You can't possibly go now,” she said, exasperated.

He glanced back at her, not quite meeting her gaze, “Not quite yet, no. I...must speak to Charlotte.”

“Sidney,” she cried after him, “It is the middle of the night! What will Lady Worcester think?”

“Send the carriage to Weston Place,” he called back. “I am going on ahead.”

\----------

Charlotte awoke suddenly, the sound of someone pounding at the door of Weston Place echoing through the halls in the night. She sat up quickly, alert as she sprung out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, her fingers fumbling as she put it on over her shift and jetted for the door. She nearly collided with a figure in the darkness as she flew through the doorway.

“Oh, mercy,” said Susan, clutching at her chest, “You gave me a fright. I thought we-” she cut off as she worked to catch her breath.

“You thought what?” Charlotte asked, doing the same.

“I thought we were getting fleeced, dear, and you were the figure coming for the silver. Come," she reached out for Charlotte's arm, "quietly, now. We may not be out of danger yet.”

As they approached the staircase cautiously, the voice of Bradford came wafting up to them. “Always gets to the door first, even in the early hours,” Susan whispered.

“Who could it-” Charlotte stilled as the deep voice of their nighttime visitor met her ears, “I must speak to Charlotte, at once!” - and before she could fully register what was happening, she ran, bare feet upon the stairs, sliding across the marble floor of the entrance hall until she reached him. 

“Sidney, what are you doing here? What has happened?” Even in the darkness, she could see his breath as he exhaled, clouds of air emitting from his mouth in quick bursts. He was greatly bothered by something, she was sure of it.

“Charlotte,” he whispered, “I must speak to you about something that has occurred. I would not have come if it was not as urgent as it is, but I cannot go without-”

“What is it? What has happened?”

He looked over his shoulder out at the street behind him warily, and Charlotte reached out, seizing his overcoat - and without a second thought, she pulled him inside.

“Mr Parker,” Susan’s voice came from behind them, “A little early to pay us a visit, is it not?”

“My sincerest apologies, Lady Worcester,” he said, removing his hat, the light of the oil lamp in the entrance hall nearly blinding him, “but I would not have come if it were not a matter of utmost urgency.”

“All right, well, you have my attention. Out with it,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“I was informed this evening that my ward, Miss Georgiana Lambe, has disappeared from her lodgings in Sanditon. Charlotte helped me to track her whereabouts when she was taken over the summer, and I-” he hesitated, unsure of how to ask what he most needed from them, “...Lady Worcester, I would like to request Charlotte’s...assistance.” 

Charlotte stood before him, speechless, then looked to Susan. “Oh, I see,” Susan smiled wryly, “so, you are requesting to travel alone with the young woman I have been tasked to keep safe while she is staying in my house. Mr Parker, you do realise that such an act, if detected, would ruin her reputation, possibly beyond what even I might repair.”

“Susan, I must help him. _Please_ ,” Charlotte implored, "If Georgiana is in danger, I must."

“And where, might I ask, are you planning to go?”

Sidney looked ashamed and embarrassed at once, shifting his hat in his hands “We have reason to suspect that she is headed in the direction of...Gretna Green. I would not-”

“You would not what, Mr Parker? Take liberties and marry Charlotte while you have the chance? It sounds rather romantic to me. Although, I am not certain Mr Heywood would approve,” she said teasingly.

Charlotte and Sidney both flushed - and suddenly feeling very exposed standing next to him, Charlotte pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. “This Miss Lambe of yours does seem to find herself in the most shocking situations,” Susan remarked.

“And believe me, I will handle it,” he spouted anxiously, “but Charlotte knows her better than anyone else and is very gifted at-”

“All right, all right. You’ve talked me into it, Mr Parker,” Susan smiled. “Of course, you must do everything in your power to save Miss Lambe. I have just one condition.”

“Of...course,” he said, taken aback.

“If you are expecting to travel with Charlotte on such a considerable journey, I merely ask that you travel with a third party,” she said.

“Yes, of course, you could accompany us,” Charlotte added.

“Me? Oh, no, I have some very important matters to attend to tomorrow. Do we not have a town to save?”

"I will do anything you ask of me,” Sidney pleaded.

“Is Mary available to travel with you?” 

“No, Ma’am, she will remain at Bedford Place. There is still a chance that Georgiana may arrive in London, you see.”

“Well, then surely you must have a servant who could accompany you.”

\-----------

“I’m sorry, Sir, but you wish for me to do what?”

“Linton, we must have a third party to accompany us in the carriage.” Sidney stood before his butler, feeling more like a child by the second. 

“But Master Parker," he replied, his tone sceptical and somewhat flummoxed, "I am not exactly what one might consider _chaperone_ material.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but it will have to do," said Sidney, impatiently, "We have no time to waste, and you are the only person I trust to have discretion in family matters.”

Linton brought his fingers up to his chin, “A valid point, I grant you that. And though I might be a poor substitute as MIss Heywood's chaperone, I might at least keep you in line.”

Sidney looked away, knowing that Linton would instantly pick up on his discomfort as he flushed, “Yes, well, Miss Heywood is already in the carriage. We must make haste.”

“A carriage…” the very corner of Linton’s mouth turned upward, “It _has_ been a very long time since I left this house...”

"I will meet you outside," he said, turning to walk toward the front door, "Oh, and there is...one more thing..." he said, turning back.

"What now?"

"I need you to look a bit less like a butler for the journey."

"Pardon?" Linton asked, glancing down at his black ensemble.

"A different coat will do. That is all I ask."

"And why, might I ask, am I required to change my attire?"

"Because, for the time being, should it be necessary, you will be posing as Miss Heywood's father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Sanditon Squad! I just joined Twitter so that I could chat more with my lovely readers! You can find me at @GemmaRoseCB. 
> 
> Gemma 💕


	40. Chapter 40

“Why must you always direct the blame at Georgiana?” Her voice rang throughout the Parker carriage as it sped along the Great North Road, the countryside reduced to a blur on either side.

“Perhaps,” came the sharp reply, “it might have something to do with the fact that she has a penchant for getting into trouble and always has.”

“And yet, if you gave her even a degree more of your trust instead of dismissing her outright, labelling her-” 

“ _Trust_ her? You think that I should have more _trust_ in someone who has run off with a compulsive gambler - a man who will soon have control over her entire fortune if we do not discover their whereabouts?”

“You don’t know that. She might be arriving at Bedford Place at this very moment.”

“Do you really think that I would have gone to the trouble of this very journey if I weren't so certain of Mr Molyneux's effect on her? She is incapable of thinking rationally when he is near.”

“And _you_ seem to be incapable of believing that anyone might be _capable_ of change - not even when you, yourself, have undergone such a transformation.”

Sidney huffed in answer and broke eye contact with her in favour of the window.

“What, am I wrong in that?” Charlotte exclaimed irritatedly.

He clenched his jaw in response, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, I thought not,” she said.

“And yet I wonder,” he said, his voice returning, “why you will not trust in _me_ to evaluate the situation based upon the _extensive_ history that I have with both parties involved.”

“Extensive history? You must learn to forgive instead of dwelling on events that are so far gone. I fear it is clouding your judgement.”

“Clouding my _judgement_?” 

The carriage shook violently as it veered to the side of the road, causing the three passengers to lurch in tandem to the side. Linton awoke in an instant, and quickly suppressed a heave. “Good God, not again,” Sidney muttered as he leaned in warily to make eye contact with the drooping form seated next to him, “Shall I stop the carriage again?”

“No, no,” said Linton, his cheeks puffing out as his stomach rebelled against the very words, “I am...quite all right, Master Parker.”

“Sidney, you must ask the driver to slow down,” Charlotte censured. “The motion - it is too much for him.” She leaned forward to open a window as Linton's cheeks puffed out again.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “we can’t afford to lose the time.”

“So you would rather stop every ten minutes? Because that is the very situation in which we are about to land, Mr Parker.”

“Huuuaaaaaghhhhh,” Linton responded.

“You see?” she asserted as if he had just emphatically agreed with her.

“Might I remind you, Miss Heywood, that time is of the utmost-”

“Yes, I realise that,” she said with ferocity, “and we must take the chance.”

Linton groaned, reaching his arms out blindly for something to hold onto as he pushed himself back into the seat, appearing as if he hoped for nothing more than the carriage to swallow him whole. “Stop the carriage this moment,” Charlotte commanded, "or I will."

He glared across the carriage at her as silence fell, leaden, between them, then exhaled sharply before the handle of his cane shot upwards to tap the ceiling, “Driver!”

Linton reached desperately for the handle of the carriage door as it slowed, opening it before the horses had come to a halt. He clambered out, hunching over behind the nearest Irish yew just off the road.

“I have to give him credit,” Sidney muttered, “he always manages to find a place to hide away just in time - no matter where we stop.”

Charlotte’s mouth twitched slightly in response, a smile emerging, then disappearing just as quickly. “Oh come on,” he beseeched, glancing across at her, “what more can we do for him?”

“Treat him with a degree of respect, for a start. You are acting as if it is his own fault he has fallen ill.”

He flicked his gaze down to the floor to avoid the clear disapproval written across her face, and looking out toward Linton’s stooped form, he sighed and made to exit the carriage. “Give him my spot,” he heard Charlotte say as he reached the door, and he turned back. 

“What?”

“He has his back to the driver as he is now. If he were faced in the other direction, it might help.”

“If he is seated there-”

“Exceptions must be made, Mr Parker, under the circumstances. As you said, we haven't much time.”

“Yes, well...I suppose it wouldn’t be the first instance,” he said.

“No,” she replied quietly.

He jumped from the carriage, boots landing stiffly upon the road, his breath rising like smoke in the early morning air. “Do you...wish to get out? Move around a bit?” She was at the door by the time he had finished his sentence, hopping down before he could assist her. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, and his eyes followed her as she immediately went to check on Linton.

\----------

Susan had arisen early that morning to walk the reception rooms of Weston Place, a renewed energy in her step despite the disruption of the night before and the lack of her companion's presence. Detecting that the lady of the house was in a mood that could be described as positively inspired, Bradford followed behind her as she progressed from room to room, assiduously taking mental notes as she listed improvements that would be required before the afternoon tea she wished to host the following week. He had left her in the dining room as he rushed off to inform the rest of the staff about the preparations to be made, knowing, without a single doubt in his mind, what was about to happen next.

“Bradford…” she called out.

“Yes, my Lady?” he replied, popping up in the doorway, having returned just in time to answer her call.

“I believe I've had an idea..."

"Have you, now?" he said in answer, not quite able to lend the air of surprise he should have.

"I was just thinking that thirty ladies would be an awful lot for even four of us to convince in one afternoon. I believe I may know of a way to improve our chances of obtaining more investors on the day.”

“Do tell, my Lady,” he urged her on.

“Well,” Susan said, setting her teacup back upon its saucer where it would stay for some time, “if we were to take a much smaller approach at the start, perhaps we could recruit others to talk of Sanditon while they are here in a week's time.”

“Which would then increase the likelihood of more ladies at the event becoming informed,” Bradford finished the thought.

“Exactly,” Susan said, raising an eyebrow as she smiled. “A subtle approach would be best in this instance, I am sure of it. And I believe I know exactly where to start. We shall have to make some house calls in the next few days, but it will be most worth our time.”

“We, my Lady? Is Miss Heywood not expected to be...out of town?”

“Yes, I imagine she will be gone for a few days at the very least, so it is fortunate, indeed, that I happen to know of someone else who I’m certain would play the part marvellously.”

"Shall I-"

"Ready the carriage, yes. I should like to call upon her today."

\----------

Within minutes, the carriage was back in motion, trundling along the Great North Road at a marginally slower pace. To Charlotte's surprise, Sidney had listened to her advice, and Linton was now resting in her former spot in the carriage - eyes closed, his breath coming out in quiet puffs of air as he drifted off.

“It appears,” Charlotte whispered as Linton's head fell back upon the seat, “that we are without a chaperone, Mr Parker.” 

“Yes, well it is probably for the best,” he whispered back, “The longer he sleeps, the less chance we have of stopping again. Besides, he is hardly chaperone material," his eyes flicked over to hers, as the carriage continued to jostle them both, "he said so himself before we left.”

“Yes, about that...” she peered at him in amusement, "was there not a maid who might have accompanied us?"

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we were running rather short on time,” he said, meeting her eyes briefly, "and despite the man's shockingly weak stomach, I doubt I would have entrusted anyone else." 

“I see,” she said, grinning, “so it had nothing to do with taking advantage.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of taking liberties, Miss Heywood," he said, leaning in closer to her, "not after Lady Worcester put the fear in me, at least.” 

“She took all of three minutes to send us off together," Charlotte goaded. 

"A brutal three minutes."

"For your sake, let us hope that my reputation remains intact by the end of this journey of ours,” she said.

“Yes, well,” he looked out the window at the countryside speeding by, “rest assured that if I should do anything to threaten your reputation, Miss Heywood, I would respond as any honourable man might.”

“Well, that is a relief," she laughed, "seeing that you already have.”

“What?” 

“We are seated on the same side of the carriage,” she said, matter-of-factly, “in broad daylight for all to see.”

“An action which you talked me into,” he added.

“And yet an action that might affect my reputation were we to be sighted.” She caught his eye, challenging him, and his mind turned to the one topic he had been determined to avoid - yet, there it was, pervasive and unflinching, persisting until he was heady over it.

“We can't have that," he murmured, "not when we might as easily marry before the week is out.” His thoughts emerged before he had even the chance to filter them, and he seemed surprised by his own statement, taking in a breath through his open mouth before dipping his head, his eyelashes fluttering briefly as he absorbed the power of the very words he had spoken.

She stilled in response as the rattling of the carriage became deafening to his ears - the only sound left in the world as he waited. “If this is your roundabout way of discovering my preference,” she said, at long last, “I would rather avoid a public scandal, should we wish to...”

"Marry," he finished. He let out a breath and watched as she did the very same, mere inches away as they hovered. “Now," he whispered, "where is the adventure in that?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Is this not adventure enough?”

“No,” he said quietly, “It isn’t.” 

‘Mr Parker.”

“Mmm?”

“Are you really attempting to hold my hand with our chaperone mere feet away?”

“Again, Miss Heywood, might I remind you that he is decidedly _not_ chaperone material. And if you paid closer attention, you would notice that I am no longer attempting.”

"I'm beginning to wonder how honourable you really are," she said, glancing back over at Linton.

"Honourable enough, I hope," he said, squeezing her hand, "but only just."


	41. Chapter 41

Charlotte awoke with a start to an empty carriage. The familiar bustle of a busy street met her ears as she took in the surroundings through the carriage windows - and for the briefest of moments, she was certain they had returned to London. Coaches and carts manoeuvred past the window in a steady line as pedestrians darted out in front of them, bound for the cluster of shops beyond. She moved to the door and opened it, the noise deafening as she was met with a crowd of newly arrived travellers, eager to find refreshment at _The Green Man_.

“Yes, I realise that, but it doesn’t change the fact that nearly every major coach route stops directly outside this very inn.”

“ _Well_..." came the frustrated reply, "might they have gone to _The Red Lion_ instead?” 

Sidney paused, and gave Linton a cursory glance, tapping his cane irritably on the street. “Are we meant to search every last inn we come upon?”

“I suppose it depends on how thorough you wish your search to be,” Charlotte interjected as she hopped down from the carriage. Sidney turned, startled at the sound of her voice. "You're awake," he murmured, a slight smile emerging, and she returned it, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"Linton," she said, turning to him, "you are looking much better."

"Thank you, Miss Heywood," he said, looking almost embarrassed at the attention, "I am finding that my spirits are quite renewed now that the carriage has stopped."

"Quite renewed, indeed," Sidney muttered under his breath.

“So, what will it be, Mr Parker?" she continued, "You are her guardian, after all. Do we go on to make up the time? Or gather what information we can at every stop.”

He took in a breath and let it out slowly as he looked down the street at the inn opposite them, moving his cane to and fro as he deliberated. “We check _The Red Lion,”_ he said, at last. “Linton, go with the driver to inquire with every last ostler within walking distance. If they were not on a stagecoach, we must find out if they hired their own for the journey. We will catch up with you at the inn.” 

"You...wish for me to trek out to the stables, Sir?" He sounded taken aback by the idea.

"Yes, we must work to gather as much information as we can, and quickly," Linton motioned for Sidney to step closer to him.

"And you expect me to allow you and Miss Heywood to just go off on your own," he said in a muted voice, darting a glance at Charlotte. "I really don't-"

"Are you suggesting that you would rather Miss Heywood go with you to the stables," he bristled, his voice lowered, "Just go, all right? It won't take long to inquire and I promise to look after her."

"Look after her?" Sidney was met with a stern, almost forbidding expression. "A dangerous statement if I've ever heard one."

"Off with you," he said through his teeth, "to the stables. I will look after Miss Heywood like a gentleman."

Linton moved in closer, putting a hand on Sidney's shoulder as if he were making a fatherly gesture, but his tone was gravely serious. "Oh, yes, you had better, Mr Parker - or you will have to answer to me. Is that understood?"

He swallowed, feeling suddenly as if he were talking to Mr Heywood, himself, "Yes, of course," he said in a much different tone.

He began to turn in the direction of the stables at _The Green Man_ , but his eyes did not break from Sidney's. "Right, then," he said, quietly, "I will hold you to your word, but," his expression turned fierce, protective, "keep in the forefront of your mind that I might rejoin you at any moment, likely when you least expect it, and you had best be behaving like a gentleman when I do," and with a final turn of his head, Linton disappeared into the throng.

“What, are we staying the night?” Charlotte teased as she took his arm.

“Careful, Miss Heywood, he may still be within hearing range," he said, testily, "That man hears everything. And no - not unless we walk in to find Georgiana alive and well, that is.” 

“I wouldn't lose all hope,” she said, tugging at his elbow until he turned to her, “We have found her before in much more trying circumstances.”

He lowered his gaze to stare at the muddy street, his jaw set. She could feel the tension in his arm. “I wish I had your assuredness, but I cannot see us succeeding so readily when we're delayed as we are.”

“I know that you wish to protect her-,” she said as they made their way through the maze of carriages. He swallowed and looked away from her briefly. “But at some point," Charlotte continued, "she will have to make her own decisions. She is a young woman, and you won’t always have the power to prevent her mistakes.”

“Yes, well, that won't prevent me from trying," he said, resolute, "but let us speak no more of it now,” he placed his hand upon her arm, then thought better of it and brought it back down to his side as they approached the entrance of _The Red Lion_. “Now is not the time to dwell when we must focus on the task at hand.”

They were greeted with a space that seemed busier than the street of new arrivals, so packed in were the diners for the afternoon hours. “I would tell you to wait here, but,” Sidney looked about them as someone from behind brushed past his shoulder, “God knows if I would ever find you again.”

“You should know by now, Mr Parker, that I wouldn’t obey even if you tried,” Charlotte retorted, looking out over the crowd. 

They weaved through the room, dodging travellers as they rushed out to make their departure times, darting to and fro to avoid colliding with chairs - and all the while, they looked at every face, every motion, seeking some sign that Georgiana was near. Just then, Sidney lurched forward to grab the arm of a young man who jetted past him. Charlotte watched as the boy pointed toward a large doorway at the edge of the dining room, and Sidney released him, the flash of a coin in the boy's hand as he continued on his path.

He signalled for her to follow, and they emerged from the bustling space unscathed. “Stable boy,” Sidney spouted as an afterthought. 

“I guessed as much," she said, feeling as if she could breathe again, "And the landlord?”

“Apparently, through here…” They stepped through to a far less congested room.

“What is this place?” Charlotte asked, curious.

Sidney turned to her, surprised, “Have you not seen a private dining room?”

She blushed slightly at his tone, “You forget that I have not travelled as you have.”

“Well…” he said, taking her elbow, “This, Miss Heywood, is a separate space reserved for anyone willing to spend their _weight_ in gold to avoid being crushed by the mob of travellers we just left - or, perhaps, merely to avoid having to dine next to commoners," he dipped his head in her direction, "And, judging from the state of what we just left behind, I wouldn’t be surprised if the landlord is doing the very same.”

“I see…” she smiled, craning her neck to look beyond the small crowd of gentlemen dispersed throughout the room, “In other words, this is the sort of place frequented by gentlemen such as yourself, Mr Parker.”

He grinned raffishly at the slight. “Well played, Miss Heywood, as usual.” 

“Even outliers prefer to dine in peace, then.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. Ah, here we are,” he said, distracted by a figure that had just emerged from a back door. 

He led her to the back of the room, a protective hand at her elbow, and Charlotte kept up with his pace as they dodged their way past a table of gentlemen. The party erupted in laughter as they walked through the tobacco haze surrounding them. Slurred speech met Charlotte’s ears and she felt Sidney grip her elbow a little tighter as they continued on their path.

“I say,” she heard a tipsy voice behind them, “I wouldn’ mind an afternoon with - _Hic -_ with one of those.”

“Shhhh-shut up, Bertie,” said another, far louder than intended, “that’s a _lady_.”

“No matter,” the man slurred, the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor, “hasn’ stopped me b’fore, 'specially for a pretty young chit like that.”

Sidney stiffened as more laughter erupted at the table. “Come on,” Charlotte passed him up, pulling at his arm, urging him to keep going, but he continued to slow his pace, his expression lethal. 

“Stop,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth, “whatever you are thinking, just _stop_. We have no time to waste.”

"Hasn't stopped me, either," said another voice at the table, followed by the scraping of another chair across the floorboards, "Perhaps I might like a go as well."

In one swift motion, Sidney removed Charlotte's hand from his arm and positioned himself in front of her, his arms outstretched on either side, shielding. “If any gentleman here has more to say about my _wife_ -”

“Wife?” said a voice from the table.

“ _Wife_ …” Charlotte echoed, her eyes wide. Sidney darted a warning glance in her direction.

“- you can bring your comments directly to me,” he finished, fiercely.

“Sidney,” she said behind him, “ _Don’t._ ”

“What a shame,” came the voice from before, and the man stood to full height. He was younger than Charlotte had anticipated, of a strong build. “I rather like them untouched.”

He swayed slightly, then moved to step out from the table. The chair he had occupied fell over in the process, landing with a _crack_ as the mahogany chair met the floorboards - and in a flurry of commotion, Sidney had darted at the man and grabbed a fistful of his coat, striking him once, twice in the jaw, followed by a series of jabs to ribs and stomach before shoving him back into a table. He watched as the man doubled over in pain, spitting blood out onto the floor.

“Never-” he said, panting, “say that again.”

The man’s eyes flashed with fury, and in an instant, he had barrelled into Sidney, knocking him onto his back, sneaking in a hit to the jaw before he could block his fist. The rest of the men had got to their feet, clearing the way, as they rolled nearer the table, knocking into it until glasses and cutlery showered down upon them. Sidney ended up on top, and grabbed the man's head, pushing it back onto a fallen port glass. “Stop!” Charlotte yelled, moving closer to the two men. Sidney looked up at her, loosening his grip just enough for the man to sneak a hit under his chin. “Charlotte,” he replied, winded, as they rolled again, “now is not the time!” 

He took a hit in the stomach, another at his left eye and rolled over onto the man, pinning him against a bed of shattered glass. He lifted him into a choke-hold and looked murderous as he writhed about, kicking and punching with decreasing energy until he began to fade off. Sidney released him, panting, and gave him one last kick in the ribs, causing the man to exhale in one great wheezing breath, and inhale deeply again. “Bloody bastard,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned against a stray chair.

“ _You’re_ the bastard,” came a voice from just behind him.

“What is that for?” he said defensively.

“If you had only listened to me the first time and avoided them. Now, look at the state of you,” said Charlotte, her arms crossed in disapproval.

“I did what any man would have.”

“What, protect the honour of his wife?” she countered with a steely gaze.

His ears turned slightly pink. “Yes, well…” he replied, wiping at his mouth and looking for signs of blood, not bothering to continue.

“Precisely,” she said, offering a hand to help him up. “Come on.”

He clenched his jaw as she helped him back to a standing position, hissing in pain as he moved. 

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out toward his abdomen, and he grabbed her hand reflexively. 

“I am quite all right, Miss Heywood,” he said, meeting her gaze. She lifted her other hand up to his face, scrutinising him as she prodded around his eye. He winced. 

“And you’re bleeding,” she muttered, “I need the landlord,” she turned, calling across the room, and a man surfaced.

“What the bloody hell is this,” he said, stepping over broken glass on the floor.

“I'm going to need hot water and clean cloth,” she said, quickly, “Freshly laundered. And quickly. Do you have a room? Somewhere we might go to clean him up?”

“Of course, it’s a bloody inn.” 

She glanced over at Sidney. “We will pay. Whatever it takes.”


	42. Chapter 42

“Come on, then,” she said, “let’s get that coat off.” Sidney had climbed three flights of stairs to reach the last available room on the uppermost floor of the inn, and to her great annoyance, had refused Charlotte’s help even after he was visibly winded. He swayed into her, almost drunkenly, as she lifted him from the bed.

“How many times must I tell you that I am perfectly _fine,_ ” he growled at her.

”And how many times must I tell _you_ that if you are as _perfectly fine_ as you claim, which I highly doubt, there should be no harm in my checking on you.”

“Miss Heywood..." Sidney looked as if he were about to break into a nervous sweat, "Linton will be on his way here at any moment and I'm not certain it would be wise to-”

“Miss?” the landlady had entered through the open door and was now giving them both an undeniable look of suspicion, a tray with a large tureen of hot water and a basket of fresh cloth in her hands. Charlotte froze, balancing Sidney’s added weight as he leaned on her briefly, his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but did he just call you-"

“An old habit,” she smiled in the landlady's direction as she pushed Sidney into an upright position, then turned to give him a murderous look, tugging on a sleeve rather more harshly than required. “We have only been married three weeks, you see,” she said in a cheery voice, and Sidney gulped, his mind coming to as he registered the far-from-cheery expression she was directing at him. “He often forgets to call me Mrs. Don’t you, dear.” Sidney sucked in a breath as she pulled the other sleeve off in one go, the fabric grazing the cuts across his right hand.

“Oh! Newlyweds...” the landlady said, clearly relieved, “We get a lot of your sort here. I won’t be a moment.” She placed the supplies upon the nightstand, “You know-" she said, the newly emptied tray under her arm, "I think you will find our upper floor lodgings to be very suitable, after all. A young couple like you might enjoy the extra privacy,” and with a wink in their direction, she left the room.

They continued smiling like the happy newlyweds they apparently were until the door clicked into place - at which point, Charlotte's expression returned to its previous state. ” _Don’t_ move,” she said before darting out into the corridor, his overcoat still draped over her arm. He could hear the muffled voices of the two women, and stepped forward, feeling an urgent need to know just what they were discussing, then stopped as he remembered her livid expression from just a moment ago. Whatever the mysterious subject might be, it certainly wasn’t worth revisiting that. 

“Have you lost your mind?” she burst in seconds later and closed the door behind her. He blinked in response, "all this talk of my reputation and you nearly get us caught on the first stop."

“I have-” he searched her eyes, hovering above her as he tried to retrieve the right words, “no idea what came over me. The fight...I just...blanked.”

“Yes, believe me, I noticed," she said, aggravated, "and I can only imagine that you deemed it an entirely justifiable reaction after they dishonoured your _wife_.” He flushed immediately.

“I felt...in the moment...that it would be more effective were I to-”

“More effective? So that was a productive use of our time, was it? You getting cut up head to toe in order to protect the honour of your imaginary wife.” She threw his overcoat angrily on the bed, and he shook his head, not knowing quite what to do, and made to sit down, “Oh, no you don’t,” she pulled him back, “Your tailcoat as well, Mr Parker.”

“What? Why?” He felt more like a cornered animal by the second. “Charlotte, surely we cannot-“

“Your coat,” she replied through her teeth, “You spent all of five minutes rolling around on _broken_ glass. I can only guess at the state of you.”

“I can assure you,” he said, feeling his heart jump as she peeled off his coat, “that I am fine. A gentleman’s winter attire is very thick - protective, even.” He held up the tail of his coat as if to demonstrate.

“Just. Sit. Down,” she said with finality as she snatched the coat from his hands, and he thought briefly of the tone Mary used when she was displeased with Tom.

He swallowed, his heart thumping as a fresh wave of anxiety coursed through him. “All right,” he conceded, sitting down slowly, his hands raised as if in surrender as she moved the supplies closer to the bed.

He felt a sharp sting as she dabbed forcefully along his brow. She moved quickly, rinsing the cloth after each pass over the wound, and gradually, her touch became lighter as she settled into a rhythm. After a time, he found himself settling along with her as he followed her movements.

He must have dreamt of this once - Charlotte appearing next to him, bandaging his wounds - back when he was delirious with fever, so completely unaware of anything but her. Many times, he had awoken to see Mary or Georgiana waiting where Charlotte should have been, and he was met with crushing disappointment, so acutely aware of what his life might have become if he had only chosen differently.

And now, here she was, cleaning his battered face, so close in proximity that he could feel the warmth from her body, her thumb and forefinger holding his chin in place - her waist close enough to touch - and his heart reacted as it always seemed to in her presence. He closed his eyes as the blood thrummed up to his eardrums, wild and erratic. 

"Are you sure you're all right?" she murmured, pausing in her work. 

"Fine," he responded, too quickly. "I suppose it's just...catching up with me."

"The fight?"

"Mmm? Oh. Yes," he said, willing himself to ignore his thoughts as she drew nearer. He noticed the corner of her mouth curve upwards in response as she went to retrieve a new cloth. 

“How do you know so much about this?” he found himself saying before his mind had a chance to wander again.

“Well,” she said, dabbing the fresh cloth along temple and cheekbone, “I have seven brothers, for a start.”

“And they fought often?” he asked.

“On occasion, yes,” she replied, “but mostly, their injuries were related to animals or fishing hooks or falling out of trees.”

“What, they fell out of trees every week?” he asked, amused.

“God, no,” she laughed, “but it happened more than you might think. Why?” she began to untie his cravat, “did you not have the same?”

“I imagine I climbed a fair few trees, yes,” he looked away from her, skimming over the flower pattern upon the wall, then down to the floorboards, attempting to focus on anything other than the gradual unwinding of his cravat, “but I find it is too distant a memory to have any clear recollection of it.”

"Of course," she murmured, a look of embarrassment blooming upon her face, "your parents."

"Yes." He caught her eye. "There was a time before, fond memories - a childhood, I suppose - but I find it is the time after that lingers most."

"And here I've brought them up," she said quietly.

"Yes, well it was bound to happen, eventually - now that we are married, that is."

"About that," she said, a glint in her eye, "I'm rather regretting my choice. Am I to expect a lifetime of cleaning you up?"

"Possibly - unless, that is, you would rather we bring Linton along on all future travels. He has a great deal of experience cleaning me up."

" _Or_ , you might refrain from fighting all together for the sake of travelling alone and uninterrupted with your wife. Just imagine - this very room might be ours. Your hand, Mr Parker." He lifted his right hand from the bed and she held onto it as she wiped off the blood - realising that it may not be his own.

"Well, if that is to be the case - consider me tamed, Miss Heywood," he said, leaning in towards her. "From now on, I shall do whatever you ask of me."

She laughed, "I don't believe a word of it, but an effort is all I ask."

"Then an effort is what you shall receive." 

She smiled, looking radiant as she peered at him, "I knew there was a reason why I married you."

"Yes, well, perhaps I might have the chance to prove myself worthy of you one day, after we have found Georgiana."

"One day, yes." A blush crept up from her chest, and she shook her head slightly as if to ward it off. "I...spoke to the landlord's wife," she continued quickly.

“And?”

“No sign of her or Otis, and no Arthur. Not in the last week, at least. Though, she couldn’t promise that they hadn’t come through during a busy time of day.”

“Is there _any_ time of day when this place isn’t crawling with people?”

Charlotte smiled, “Likely not. She is checking the stables for us, as we speak - said she didn’t want us to be taken away from our quarters, being newlyweds and all.”

”Right...” 

“We must stay focused on the task - you said it yourself.” 

"And so we shall, Mrs Parker." He smiled as he said the words, then flinched. “That would be the strike on your chin, I imagine,” Charlotte grinned.

“Yes," he said, lifting his fingers up to assess the damage, "I imagine you’re right.”

“Can you breathe normally?”

“Of course, I am perfectly-"

“Perfectly fine, yes. Breathe in for me.”

He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs until the familiar ache caused him to shudder briefly. “Any pain?” she asked.

“No,” he croaked, feeling as if his ribcage might crack open, “no pain.”

She began to prop up pillows behind him. “Lie back.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you. Lie back.”

“Really, I am feeling very well,” he assured her.

“Well, then breathe in again. Go on,” she said, impatiently.

He stared at her for what felt like several seconds, as the reality of where their encounter might lead hit him once more. “We should go,” he said, standing abruptly, his head whirling. “We have stayed on long enough.”

Charlotte’s hand shot out to grip his arm. “We are not leaving,” she said, her grasp tightening as if he might escape at any moment, “until I know that you will not be injured further from bouncing around in that carriage.”

“Charlotte…” He had resumed rapid, shallow breathing as she began to unbutton his waistcoat, her fingers moving rapidly down his chest. “It will only take a moment,” she said, calmly, “I just need to check for signs of bruising. If you look well enough, we will be on our way.”

“Surely-” he began, then paused, his breath caught, “I am perfectly capable of finding bruises on my own.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Miss Heywood, this is not-”

“Shhhh-Mrs Parker, you fool,” she murmured, “and I have already seen more of you than what this will require - or have you forgotten?” 

His breathing picked up in speed as he silently deliberated, explanations whirling through his mind, were she to discover-

“Don’t.” His hands had shot out in reaction before he was even aware of it, removing both of hers from his waistcoat, the sound of that single word reverberating throughout the room. He met her gaze with an expression bordering on shame, and she looked at him, perplexed. 

“What are you-”

The door to the room flew open with such force that it bashed into the writing desk positioned near the entrance. Linton stood in the doorway, taking in the scene before him, appearing out of breath as if he had darted up all three flights to reach them.

Sidney let out a sigh of relief. “Linton, what news?”

“I leave your side for not one hour and you can’t even manage to avoid a fight?” he said angrily.

“News, man, news!” he said impatiently, trying to redirect him. 

“I won't give you _news_ until you have thoroughly explained yourself, Master Parker," he responded as if scolding a child, “What are you doing?” he exclaimed, “Is this behaviour suitable for a gentleman? Entertaining young ladies in a rented room, half-dressed-“

“That’s enough!” Sidney shouted.

”Oh, it is quite enough,” he continued, “enough to ruin her reputation for the rest of her life, or are you too blinded by your own lust to recognise the fact?”

”I-“ Sidney’s face had gone crimson as he exhaled in defeat, an overwhelming sense of embarrassment washing over him, “Beg your pardon,” he said, looking over at Charlotte, “I don’t know what came over me.”

”It was my idea,” Charlotte spouted, as if she could hold it in no longer, “I needed a space to look him over, the landlord suggested it and it seemed like the best option, considering-“

”Considering?”

”I-I was... _am_...concerned about the way he is breathing. He can’t seem to take in a full breath without experiencing pain. I fear he may have broken ribs - or something more severe.”

Linton looked at her in bewilderment for a moment. “Why, of course he-”

“Charlotte, could you kindly leave us alone,” Sidney interjected forcefully. 

"What?" she looked caught off-guard, "Are you really sending me out of the room?"

"Yes," he looked at her, eyes pleading. “It may be for the best,” he glanced over at Linton.

She glared at him, “You're really sending me off - just like that."

"Charlotte-"

"Linton, if you don’t mind putting some pressure on his breastbone and reporting how he reacts. Clearly, Mr Parker is not comfortable with me doing so.” 

“Certainly, Miss Heywood,” he said, “I am familiar with the practice. This won’t have been his first fight.” He looked back and forth between them as silence fell in the room, and in a second, she had turned away and closed the door behind her, more forcibly than necessary.

Sidney ran his fingers roughly through his hair, making it stand on end.

“Whatever _that_ was, she is not pleased with you in the least,” Linton muttered as he removed his overcoat and hat, "I've not a clue how you might make it up to her, but-"

“She doesn’t know, Linton,” he said, impatiently, “I haven’t told her about...what happened.”

"Haven't told her about -" he fell into silence, connections forming, and his expression transformed into one of fierce disapproval, "-if you are about to say what I think you are-"

"What, that she still has no knowledge of the accident? Because she doesn't." Linton lowered his head, tugging at an ear distractedly before taking a breath as if to prepare himself.

“You mean to tell me,” he began to roll up a shirt sleeve, looking sharply over at Sidney, “that you have yet to even broach the subject of your injury? Of all the foolish-“

“I just...put it off, all right?” Sidney huffed, unbuttoning the rest of his waistcoat, and throwing it on the bed, “and now, the longer I wait, the more outraged about it I fear she will become.”

“You’re a fool,” he said, matter-of-factly, "A right fool, and let this be a warning to you," Linton stepped over to him and looked him straight in the eyes, "because if you do not find a way to _change_ , you will lose her for it."

Sidney clenched his jaw, groaning in frustration and pain as Linton lifted his shirt over his head. “Just look me over before she comes back. I will tell her. I must. But this is not the time nor the place.”

Linton sighed in disappointment. “When will you ever learn? Time will give you no advantage here, Master Parker.”

\----------

Charlotte moved quickly down the three flights of stairs, quietly fuming as hurt and rejection took the place of anger. By the time she took the last step, she found herself blinking rapidly to remain composed, but the tears fell, regardless. She shook her head as if to ward off her own thoughts, and breathed in, reminding herself to focus on the greater task.

She walked through a somewhat less chaotic hallway to the private dining room, which had been closed temporarily. The landlord was its only occupant and appeared to be in the final stages of sweeping the shards of glass that had littered the floor earlier. “Apologies, again,” she called out across the room.

“It’s not the firs’ fight we’ve had, Ma’am,” he responded, his expression gruff, yet amused.

“Well, thank you, all the same,” she said, wiping discreetly at her eyes, “Do you...happen to know where I might find your wife?”

He paused, leaning upon the broom handle, “Last I checked, she was on her way out back - but she might well be miles away by now, knowing how she moves about the place.”

“Out back...to the stables.” Charlotte clarified, and he nodded.

“Right," she took in a sudden breath again, "I will leave you to it, then.” She turned away and brushed at her eyes, which had become heavy. And yet, curiosity had been brewing since she last spoke to the landlady. She felt the sense of urgency from earlier return as she made her way back to the dining room’s entrance, certain that she had spotted a door that led to the inn’s livery stables.

“Closed? What the devil has happened here?” she overheard a man say as he approached.

“No matter. We could dine just as easily at _The Green Man_ ,” said another.

“ _The Green Man?”_ the man said, incredulous, “You promised me fine dining at each and every stop.”

“What, and _The Red Lion_ provides finer fare than a pub of equal standing? Don't be such an ass,” the other voice muttered in annoyance, and Charlotte felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand as the men walked closer to the room's entrance. She heard a crowd approach, passing the group by, and took her chance to lessen her exposure. She stepped quickly out into the hallway, joining the edge of the crowd of new arrivals, her head turned in the opposite direction of the party of men. If she could only reach the back door-

“Miss... _Heywood_?” she heard from behind and felt a hand briefly touch her arm. She stopped, mid-stride, pausing for a moment in defeat, wiping again at her eyes before she turned.

“Lord Townshend,” she said, not quite achieving the air of surprise she had been hoping for. 

“I might have known you anywhere," he murmured as Charlotte blinked away tears again, “and yet you are the last person I would expect to see so far north of London. What are you doing here?”

“Exactly what you are doing here, I imagine,” she responded, her tone light, though it wavered slightly as she spoke, “stopping on my travels like everyone else.”

“You’re travelling? I thought you wished to stay the season in London,” he said with curiosity.

“Oh, I’m not sure I would call it travelling. It's more of a day trip, really,” she waved a hand dismissively.

“You’re a touch far north for a day trip,” he remarked quietly, taking in her red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes, well...perhaps we were overambitious in our plans,” she replied, sniffing reflexively.

He looked at her curiously before his bright green eyes darted around the hallway, “And...your travel companions are nearby?”

She flushed in response. “Yes, of course, though I’ve rather lost sight of them."

“I see…” he said.

“Are you headed north as well, Lord Townshend?” she asked quickly.

“Yes,” he flushed in response, “to my estate, yes. I have a... _small_ matter of business to attend to.”

“And yet, it is urgent enough to leave London in November? Has not Parliament begun?”

“Only just,” he said, breaking eye contact as he shifted his hat with his hands, "but I find the roads are easily travelled."

“Pray tell, where is your estate?” she asked, curiously.

“Norfolk,” he said quietly, his ears turning pink.

“Right…” Charlotte felt a breeze waft into the hall from behind and turned to meet it instinctively, grateful for the distraction.

“Ah, there you are, Mrs Parker,” said the landlady, “I just checked with the stable boy and they don't recall ever meeting a young lady from Antigua- Oh...” she said, noticing Charlotte's companion, “well, if it isn’t Lord Townshend here to grace us with his presence.”

“Indeed, Ma’am,” he said, his eyes locked with Charlotte’s, the shock apparent in them.

The landlady giggled in response, “Graces his presence every other week of late. On business again, then?”

“Always,” he said absently, blinking in confusion as he turned back to Charlotte. “Are you...all right?”

“For God’s sake, Linton. How could it not have occurred to you to lead with that?" came a voice from above them and Charlotte found herself lost for words.

"Not have occurred to me? I can’t fathom what might have distracted me," came the sarcastic reply.

"Enough. Let us speak no more of it here.” The stairs above them creaked under the weight of the two men descending, and Charlotte watched as Lord Townshend's eyes travelled up to meet the sound. Before she could distract or even attempt to block his view, recognition dawned upon his face.

  
  



	43. Chapter 43

Not a single voice could be heard in the carriage. Its three occupants swayed together in tandem, jolted in the same directions as the wheels met the uneven roads that led east. The silence was like a dead weight that pressed upon them, persistent and palpable, its only backdrop the continuous motion of horse and carriage. 

Sidney looked determinedly out of the window, working in the quiet to calm his addled mind as his eyes moved back and forth over fields and greenery, his thumb absently tracing the outline of his lips over and over again. Every so often, a sudden intake of breath would pierce through, and he would try again to move his hand further along the seat, closer to her. Every so often, she would push it back.

\----------

_SOME HOURS EARLIER..._

“Charlotte, it is time to leave. Go out to the carriage.” Sidney stood, frozen to the third step, Linton just behind. His hand gripped the bannister, tighter, as his eyes remained fixed upon Lord Townshend.

“I believe that congratulations are in order,” Lord Townshend said, all politeness, though his eyes had narrowed at Sidney.

“Oh, yes,” said the landlady, “I nearly forgot. They have only just been married. What was it again? Three weeks? Honestly, you'd think it had been thirty with how they-”

“Lord Townshend,” Charlotte started, “really, I can explain-”

“There is no time to explain,” Sidney murmured.

“We are searching for a mutual acquaintance - a Miss Lambe, who has gone missing recently, and-”

“Charlotte, that’s enough,” Sidney growled, “please, don’t speak another word of it to this man. He cannot be trusted.”

“Cannot be trusted?” interjected the landlady in an affronted tone, “Lord Townshend? I’ve never heard such an accusation thrown about for as kind a man.”

“Then, you had best form better acquaintances, Ma’am,” said Sidney.

Lord Townshend swallowed nervously, “Perhaps we might...have a word. In private...” He darted an apologetic look at the landlady, and she looked back, affronted. "But of course, Lord Townshend. I've not the time nor the inclination to interfere with your private matters." But her tone said otherwise as she huffed softly, rushing off in the direction of the kitchens.

"What a way to speak to a Marquess," Linton muttered behind Sidney as he tracked her path, "she wouldn't last a day in service, I can tell you that."

"Miss Heywood,” Townshend stepped a bit closer to Charlotte, leaning in as if consulting with her privately, “I must ask again...are you quite all right?” his eyes flashed back over at Sidney and Linton, who were continuing on their path down the stairs.

“I am perfectly fine,” she said, crossing her arms, “now, say what you have to say.”

“Sent you on an errand, did she?” Sidney cut through, the anger apparent in his voice as he approached them.

Townshend turned, his jaw set as he surveyed Sidney, “I don’t understand your meaning, Sir.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he responded, darkly, “make no mistake, I know her well enough to recognise her own handiwork.”

Lord Townshend swallowed again, not quite meeting Sidney’s eye as he responded. “Mr Parker, I would advise you to ensure that Miss Heywood has a safe passage back to London.”

“What are you planning to do to her-” Sidney cut off, his breathing picking up.

"Mr Parker," Linton came up behind him and placed a hand upon his arm, "Now is not the time." But Sidney did not move.

“Go back to London,” Lord Townshend's gaze shifted between them, “for God’s sake, just go back.”

Sidney grabbed his shoulder, looking murderous, "I will not move from this very spot until you are honest with me, Townshend." 

Lord Townshend emitted a feeble laugh, "Do you honestly think I could tell you? That they wouldn't drag me down the street if I even attempted it? Unhand me now," he gritted his teeth, "or I will write to your affianced of my little discovery. Mrs Parker, indeed."

“Do that, Lord Townshend,” Charlotte admonished, “and you will only succeed in harming _me_.”

He paused.

“Is that really what you aim to do?” 

"I _aim_ to get you out of here in one-"

“Townshend? Are you coming, or what?” Charlotte turned to see the man from earlier approach, almost cautiously. A flash of panic surfaced in Townshend’s expression, his eyes wide, defeated, and she felt Linton tense up beside her. “Parker?” said the man, “what are you doing here?”

Sidney exhaled, a shallow huff of air leaving his lungs, but his expression revealed no surprise, “I’d ask the same question of you, Robert.”

“Our private affairs are none of your concern.”

“Oh, I would beg to differ,” he growled.

“Volatile as ever, I see,” said Robert, smirking.

“Our friends, here, were just on their way back to London,” Lord Townshend said, “weren't you, Mr Parker.”

But Sidney was no longer looking at Lord Townshend, nor listening to what he was spouting out into the room. “Bridges...” he murmured, the word sounding as if it were lodged in his throat.

A man in the crowd suddenly stood out to them, as if he had appeared out of thin air. He was unwashed, a line of stubble along his jaw, his white breeches and waistcoat greyed and spotted with filth. He smiled, revealing a row of blackened, uneven teeth, but it was his eyes - so dark that they didn’t quite look like eyes at all - that sent a numbing sense of foreboding through Charlotte. His gaze moved to her, raking over her slowly as if he were running a grimy hand along her body from head to toe.

Sidney spun around to face them, his head dipped low as he whispered urgently, "Get out, _now_. If I am not at the carriage in five minutes, leave without me. Linton, you know the direction."

" _No_ ," Charlotte reached for his coat, her fingers curling around the wool without a second thought, "I won't have another fight, and certainly not in your condition," she whispered in frustration. 

“If it isn’t Mr Parker,” said the man called Bridges, “come chasing after us already?”

Sidney’s eyes narrowed, and he whirled around to face the man. “That depends, Bridges. Is something weighing on your conscience?”

“My business is none of your concern,” he said, revealing yet more blackened teeth as he sneered.

“Oh, I remember a great deal about your business,” Sidney clenched his jaw and stepped forward, his shoulders squared, tense, “and you look fresh off the ship.”

Charlotte felt a tug at the back of her sleeve and glanced up to see Linton just behind her. She shook her head once, then pointed her chin in the direction of the back door. Linton followed the trail.

“Gentlemen, _please_ , be reasonable," said Lord Townshend, his voice quivering, "let us end this here and part ways.”

“Oh, I’ll go,” said Sidney darkly, moving closer to Bridges, “when this man assures me that his business has no relation to me.”

“Relation?” Bridges shot back, laughing, “oh, my business has no relation to _you_ , whatsoever, unless you consider yourself related to cargo.”

In a flash, Sidney had him by the neck and slammed him back against the wall. “I could watch you die a slow death right here and now,” he bellowed.

He answered in a gurgling wheeze, and Sidney squeezed tighter as Bridges grasped at his arms, his wrists, trying to pry him free. “Give me one reason not to,” he seethed, pounding him back into the wall. 

“Get off him!” shouted Robert, who had grabbed him by the shoulders, but Sidney shook him off, elbowing him in the jaw with his free arm repeatedly until he lost his grip. Robert doubled over in pain, spitting blood onto the floor as Sidney pushed Bridges back against the wall. His face began to go from puce to a sickly grey. Taking his chance, Sidney kicked backwards and bashed a heel into Robert's knee, sending him straight to the floor.

"Miss Heywood, the carriage," Linton shouted into her ear, and he pulled at her arm with such force that she nearly fell backwards, but she regained her balance and took off in Sidney's direction. "Miss Heywood, please!" Linton shouted.

"Sidney, STOP!" she cried, "for God's sake, let the man go!"

"Charlotte," he gritted his teeth, "Go to the carriage. NOW."

"Not until you give me your word that you will not harm him." 

"The carriage! NOW!" he shouted, making eye contact with her this time. "Linton-" His grip on Bridges had loosened momentarily, and a filthy palm covered his face, pushing it back, fingers seeking his eye sockets as he shoved him with as much force as he could muster, crying out in frustration.

In a moment, she had been all but picked up off the floor. "Miss Heywood, we must go!" Linton said through clenched teeth as he dragged her towards the back exit. 

"What are you doing?" Charlotte cried as she was pulled through the back door, kicking at him to break free. "There will be blood on his hands if we do not-"

"Oh, _please_ , he won't kill the man," Linton said, letting her go as soon as the door latched, his expression one of disgust, "and if he happened to, good riddance," he muttered, angrily.

"Did you not see the man's face?" 

"He is holding them _off_ ," Linton said quickly as she reached out for the door handle.

"He's...what?" she paused.

"The ostler, at the stables. He saw two travellers fitting the description of Miss Lambe and Mr Arthur Parker the night before last. They hired a carriage, bound for Norfolk. Now, who do you think they might be paying a visit, Miss Heywood? Because I have my doubts it is _Lord Townshend_."

"And you sent me out of the room knowing that? Without even bothering to tell me?"

"Not _you_ as well," he groaned, throwing his hands up in aggravation, "I had no idea what might be coming after them, and discovered the two of you in a bloody _room_ , alone. At the time, I chose to manage what was in front of me. If the two of you had just behaved as you should-"

"Don't you dare blame this on me. I did my best with what I had."

"As did I," he fumed, turning abruptly to set off down the alley, "Come with me or refuse, but I have a job to do and little time to waste gaining your trust."

"Linton. _Linton_ , where are you going," she called, walking after him, stumbling over the uneven terrain of the stable yard, "If we are to miraculously outrun these men, shouldn't we be preparing the carriage?"

He turned, "Oh, we are preparing a carriage, all right. Are you coming, or what?"

"It has been far longer than five minutes," Charlotte said, pacing outside the Parker carriage on the main road, "What if we missed him?"

She was met with a knowing sigh, as Linton opened his pocket watch one last time to triple check.

"Linton, I don't know what to do. What if he has been hurt again?" she paused, considering.

"Stay calm, Miss Heywood. He had only one opponent standing when we left, and the man was rather blue in the face, as I recall. There is no need to worry quite so much. Townshend will cause him no harm."

"He might be speaking more with Lord Townshend, perhaps. Getting information?"

“Precisely,” Linton said, approaching the carriage. “Now, you had best get on board. And I," he swallowed in apprehension, "had best prepare to hold my stomach.”

“Right…” Charlotte said, deep in thought. She opened the carriage door and stepped inside while Linton spoke briefly to the driver. The door blew backwards, flattened by a sudden gust, its hinges creaking at the motion as the wind pulled it away and released it to come crashing back again, with greater force. She sat down quickly, looking out to the ever-changing crowds of new arrivals that seemed to flood the town every twenty minutes, and her stomach dropped so suddenly that she hadn't quite registered the cause. “Linton,” she called out, feeling as if the voice that emerged belonged to someone else, “Linton, get inside.”

“In a moment, Miss Heywood," he called out.

“Linton, it's time!” 

Sidney Parker emerged from the sea of new arrivals on the main road, running in their direction, waving an arm onward, and Linton bolted for the carriage door. In a flash, he was seated across from Charlotte, pounding his fist twice on the ceiling. The carriage took off down the street, gaining speed as the figure of Sidney Parker approached, running full tilt, the figures of Robert and Bridges behind him as he slowly gained on the carriage.

Charlotte reached a hand out through the opened door as he huffed, taking one last shallow breath before jetting the final length to the carriage door. He took her hand and she pulled as he leapt into the air, landing diagonally across the floor at her feet - his legs still dangling outside the carriage as the door swung about on its hinges. 

"Charlotte," he panted heavily, not moving from his position on the floor, "Can you see them? Are they on our heels?"

She looked out of the back window and watched as the men changed direction, heading back towards the stables at _The Red Lion_ , and she grinned. "Well, they won't be for very long, I can tell you that."

Sidney glanced up at her, perplexed.

"Miss Heywood and I," Linton chimed in as he brushed at his coat, "may have, perhaps, located their carriage."

"You-" Sidney squinted up at Linton, still panting as Charlotte latched the carriage door, "You what?" 

"Yes, it would appear that both of the rear wheels have been compromised, Sir," he said, calm as ever as he spotted a smudge of grease on his index finger and began to rub it away.

"Loose rivets. It won't be long before the wheels come off, entirely," she glanced over at him, a hint of pride in her expression.

"You loosened the-"

"Of course we did," said Linton, "we had to find some way of holding them off."

"Even so, depending on where it happens, they may not be delayed for very long."

"True," Charlotte conceded, "they might hire a carriage to follow us, but it will still take some time to do - and is not every second an advantage."

Sidney lodged himself in a corner of the carriage, clearly starting to feel the pain brought on by the afternoon's events. "Now, to figure out a way to deal with Robert Campion," he said, pausing briefly to squeeze his septum.

"Campion?" Charlotte said.

"The man who approached us while we spoke to Townshend also happens to be Eliza's brother-in-law. That, matched with Bridges..." he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it irritatedly, " _why_ couldn't she have just gone to Gretna Green."

"These men...you know them."

"Not well, but yes," Sidney said, darkly, "Robert Campion is known for trading in Antigua."

"So you were competitors."

“He doesn’t trade in sugar, Charlotte-” he looked at her ominously, “he specialises in something far more profitable.”

Her heart rate started to pulse up through her neck at such speed that she felt dizzy from it. She stilled, a range of possibilities flooding her mind - but one, far more horrifying than the rest, remained. "Georgiana-"

“Is, for whatever reason, likely headed to Mrs Campion’s estate,” finished Sidney, “and if we don’t reach her in time to prevent whatever heinous act Eliza has likely instigated, Bridges, and _Campion_ , will reach her first.”

Charlotte blinked, then shook her head in refusal of the idea, "But, Georgiana is a free woman. She is an heiress. Surely, she would not be-"

"Not be what? Taken hostage? Captured and shipped off to God knows where? Is that what you think wouldn't happen?" 

Her mouth opened as if to retort, but she did not yet have the words - only the pricking of tears that she tried desperately to ward off. "If he...if Bridges were to-"

"Charlotte, I can't think about that right now," he blinked rapidly, his eyes shining as the sun drew patterns on his face, "please, don't make me think."

She swallowed, holding back until she no longer could.

\-----------

“Tell me, Miss Lambe, what is your preference?” Arthur asked. A childish grin spread upon his face as he wiped his brow in the sunshine. His coat was draped over his arm.

“I don’t know exactly, yet," said Georgiana, shielding her eyes as she looked toward the imposing manor at the base of the hillside, "but Otis did once mistake me for a servant.”

“Mistake you for a servant?” Arthur exclaimed with an air of incredulity.

“Arthur,” she replied, annoyed, “let us not pretend that it wouldn’t be the direct assumption of the majority.”

“Yes, well, perhaps it might for some, Miss Lambe, but you are unmistakably a lady. It is written all about you, you know. Your speech, the way in which you carry yourself. Yes, there is very much a power about you - I’m rather shocked to hear that you aren’t aware it exists, yourself.”

Georgiana paused, her eyes rolling up to meet the gaze of her much taller companion as she shook her head. “Are you serious?”

He grinned back at her, “Oh, yes, on that matter, at least, I would not jest.”

“Then what would you propose that we do?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know where to start. Though, I have always enjoyed a good tour…”

“You want to tour the estate?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds a lovely time, does it not, Miss Lambe?” he spoke hopefully as he offered his arm to her. “I am rather fond of country estates. Perhaps they might offer us refreshments by the end to keep us from fatigue.”

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Naturally - when it is past luncheon and I've not had a morsel."

"All right, then," she conceded, "back in the carriage. If we are to act the part, we will take the main road."

Arthur grinned in delight.

\----------

_SOME HOURS LATER..._  
  


Sidney awoke to lantern light, the form of Charlotte close enough to touch, her face cast in shadow. He sat up, getting his bearings as he squinted out towards the light, the motion setting off his aching abdomen. He caught his breath. They had clearly stopped to switch out the horses for the second time that night, but where, exactly, they had stopped on their path through Cambridgeshire, he didn't know. 

"If you cannot take turns sleeping, we will have to find someone who _can_ ," Linton's irritated voice emerged from the group of men outside, "We have no other _option_ but to continue," he replied to one of the drivers, more forcefully this time.

Sidney fell back upon the seat, relieved, yet again, that Linton was along for the trip. 

"Where are we?" came Charlotte's weary voice beside him.

"I don't know," he murmured, resting his head back against the seat before he turned to face her, his gaze lowered to her hands, her sleeve, the light forming shapes upon her dress.

She nodded, and stared down at her hands, blinking, "Sidney, I-"

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Charlotte," he said quietly, "I just couldn't-" he cut off as the familiar tightness rose, yet again, in his throat, and the words died before he could speak them. "I didn't even thank you."

"Thank me for what?"

"Your cleverness," he said, moving instinctively nearer as he sought her eyes in the darkness, "For holding them off far longer than I could."

"Yes, well that was mainly Linton's idea - though I might have explained a few things." 

He chuckled quietly, then bit his lip, feeling as if he had disturbed the silence that still loomed over them. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. I swear he hasn't left Bedford Place in years."

"Sidney-" 

"Yes." 

"What are we to do-" she whispered, her voice catching.

He stared straight ahead into the darkness. "We are going to find her first." She squinted back at him against the lantern light that finally landed upon her face, as it swayed in the breeze just outside the carriage. 

"And what makes you so sure of that?" she sniffed.

"Because," he responded, his eyes flicking over to hers, "the alternative is too much to bear." 

She nodded, her eyes overflowing briefly as she looked down to her hands, blinking away the persistent tears that kept appearing at any mention of what lay ahead. Sidney's eyes lingered on her, drawing in her sorrow, and once again, he acknowledged the feeling of helplessness that swelled within him - like a festering wound he could not contain.

The door to the carriage cracked open, and Linton stepped in, "Ah," he removed his top hat, "the horses are nearly ready. We should be on our way," he said as he tried to quell a great yawn.

Sidney blinked at the sudden break in silence, and his eyes lingered no more. "At this pace," he looked to Linton, "we might well cross over to Norfolk with daylight hours to spare."

"As long as our drivers cooperate, yes," Linton muttered.

"You were gone a while. Everything okay?"

"Fine for now," Linton said, settling back, "only that I'm afraid the excitement of a quick getaway has rather blown the wind out of my sails. I suggest you get some rest while you can. Lord knows I won't take kindly to a sleep-deprived master in the morning having been up half the night, myself."

Sidney tapped the ceiling twice, and they were off again, jolting about, to and fro, as they took on the rugged roads by lantern light. After a time, he looked over at Charlotte again in the dim glow that shifted, hypnotically - circling them both but never quite landing - and she looked back.


	44. Chapter 44

_MEANWHILE, IN LONDON..._

Esther looked skyward at the imposing Gothic exterior. Its many pinnacles and spires sliced through the low-hung clouds like knives stabbing the sky, buried so deep that the jagged edges were all but hidden from view. The carriage had just come to a stop in the circle drive of one of the largest private residences in London. “It can’t be,” she whispered, turning to her companion. 

“Oh, but it is,” Susan replied, a smile playing upon her lips as she adjusted her glove. “I would not have infringed upon your time, Lady Babington, if it were not necessary to make a memorable impression.” They stepped down from the carriage onto the cobblestone drive, hands holding their bonnets into place as a fresh gust of wind greeted them, “and we simply cannot afford to be anything less than memorable now.”

Esther had heard often of the Carlyle family, London society's most recent addition, and the wealthiest household to grace the streets of Piccadilly in living memory - however, the lady of the house had remained a mystery to her.

“Is she an acquaintance?” she asked, as they approached an entrance framed by an imposing pointed arch. Susan tapped the Gothic door knocker twice.

“Not quite, no, but she will be by the end of our visit if I have anything to do about it,” Susan turned to her, a look of resolve emerging before she transformed into the picture of poise and friendliness as the door cracked open, its hinges sounding as if they were unused to any manner of movement. The sound echoed down a grand arcade, complete with ribbed vaulting fit for a cathedral, and travelled up to the ornate tracery that embellished and framed vast windows of stained glass.

“Lady Worcester,” said a rather overeager voice from the entrance, and both Susan and Esther peeled their eyes from the exquisite interior and the imposingly tall footman who had opened the door, and looked down at the unexpectedly squat woman before them who, despite her expensive attire, appeared to be as unaccustomed to her surroundings as her visitors. 

“Mrs Carlyle,” Susan said, extending her arms, “so wonderful to see you.”

“I-I could hardly believe that you of all people should call,” she said, almost amazed, then broke into an uneven smile, “Lady Worcester in my very entry hall…I never would have guessed it.”

“And what an entry it is,” she murmured, her eyes drawn back upwards to the impossibly high vaults. “May I introduce you to my dear friend, Lady Babington,” she said, stepping through.

“Oh! Lovely, yes, but I do recognise the name,” said Mrs Carlyle, her tone nothing short of reverential. Esther responded with an uneasy smile and, knowing not what to make of this woman, moved a step closer to Susan.

They stood in the entryway, silence building for a moment before Mrs Carlyle jumped, and said, “Oh! How foolish of me. Please allow me to escort you.”

She scurried away so abruptly that Susan and Esther had little chance to exchange a look of confused wonderment before Mrs Carlyle had disappeared around a corner, the rapid clicking of her shoes against the marble floors the only hint at her location. They followed, winding through a corridor until they arrived in a reception room that would more than suit the expensive tastes of the Prince Regent - and once again, their eyes were drawn upwards to the ornate plaster ceiling as Mrs Carlyle waved them over to a cluster of chairs that surrounded the fireplace. Every step echoed throughout the otherwise empty room as they approached.

“Please,” she said, gesturing to the seating, “do sit down.” 

“Such… elaborate furnishings, Mrs Carlyle,” Susan remarked as they each took a chair.

Mrs Carlyle flushed in response, “Yes, we rather hope to add more, in time.”

“You are from… Norfolk, was it?” Susan asked as she absently smoothed her gown.

“Indeed,” Mrs Carlyle answered.

“I have only just arrived in London, myself,” Esther said, “and I will admit to having grown fonder of the place.”

“Yes, I imagine it will grow on me...eventually,” said Mrs Carlyle, releasing a vacant sigh as if she didn’t quite believe it all the same.

“Lady Babington has only recently moved from the most delightful seaside town,” Susan added. 

“Oh? Do you speak of Brighton? Or… Weymouth?” she began to wring her hands nervously, as if she were attempting to recall other well-known seaside resorts and couldn't quite manage it. 

“It is a town called Sanditon,” Esther said.

“Sanditon?" she asked, looking slightly relieved, "Why, I have heard often of Sanditon.”

“Of course you have,” Susan said, glancing over at Esther, “any society lady who is informed has heard rumblings of the town that will soon become more fashionable than Brighton.”

“More fashionable than Brighton?” Mrs Carlyle echoed, a note of surprise in her tone, "now, that I haven't heard."

“Oh, my dear Mrs Carlyle, you won’t wish to spend another _moment_ in Brighton after witnessing the beauty of Sanditon,” Esther joined in, and Susan caught her eye for the briefest of moments, her lips curving upwards before returning to their earlier position.

“And I have no wish to spread rumours, dear, but,” Susan continued, “I have heard that a most particular friend of mine wishes to attend several events there throughout the summer months.” She raised an eyebrow. “In fact,” she added, “he may wish to spend more time in Sanditon than he does Brighton.”

Mrs Carlyle looked as if her eyes may pop out of her head as she registered what this meant, “Indeed, Lady Worcester... _indeed_. Thank you so very much for keeping me informed.”

“My pleasure,” Susan smiled.

"We had hoped to acquire a seaside property in time for the summer season."

"I shall pass along my contacts to you, then," Susan said, reaching for the teacup that had just been offered to her, "I have only just acquired property there, myself, and plan to stay for the summer."

"And forego Brighton?" she asked.

"Yes," Susan said, placing the teacup back in its saucer, "I find that it is best to get out early on. Once word travels that a certain friend prefers another town, well...it seems unnecessary to stay for the aftermath when one is in the know, wouldn't you say?"

"I see..." Mrs Carlyle began to wring her hands again.

"Tell me, Mrs Carlyle," Susan continued, "have you searched for a seaside property now that your London house has quite come together? London often becomes a ghost town during the summer months."

"Yes...yes I have, and all in Brighton, I must admit," she looked ashamed at the mention, "though...we might yet have a chance to explore our options."

"Well, I can say with certainty that between Esther and myself, you would have two friends to introduce you to many more in the town."

"Oh, lovely, indeed," said Mrs Carlyle, "I find it is always an advantage to have acquaintances when moving to new places. You know, it is quite uncanny that you chose to call today, and even more curious that Sanditon became a topic of conversation.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, you see, normally an old acquaintance of mine from Norfolk calls on Wednesdays - Mrs Campion. We had rather fallen out of touch, I admit, but she has been very attentive since we arrived in London.”

"How kind of her to be so...welcoming," Susan remarked, a few rapid blinks the only indication that more was occurring behind the calm facade.

“It’s rather unfortunate that she had to cancel, though I will say that she would have little to contribute to a conversation about the town. Her affianced is among the family of developers, you see, and she seems rather ready to be rid of any association with it.”

“I can speak with assurance that Mrs Campion may feel quite differently about the town when it becomes the height of fashion."

"As someone who is often fatigued by the bustle of London," Esther continued, "Sanditon offers what Brighton and Weymouth no longer can: the chance to enjoy the unspoiled beauty of the coast.”

“Rather like my home in Norfolk, as it sounds,” Mrs Carlyle stared into the fire, “the land appears almost untouched.”

“It is among the loveliest spots I have visited in all my travels," Susan remarked.

"And I have yet to find a location that compares," Esther said.

"You have a name that I might contact to inquire?" Mrs Carlyle asked, almost eagerly.

Susan pulled a card out of her reticule, "I shall give this to you, as I have others at home. I think you will find it to be the greatest sort of escape from the smoke of London, dear."

Mrs Carlyle snatched the card without a second thought and examined it closely.

"Did she... mention why she had to cancel? I hope that she is in good health,” Susan asked, as she and Esther prepared to go.

“Mmm? Oh yes, perfectly fine, but there was some sort of issue, it seems, that has arisen at her country estate,” Mrs Carlyle said, leaning in closer as she eyed the footman at the door cautiously, “a servant issue, from the sound of it - something she had to address before it got a bit too out of hand, you know.”

“Oh indeed, I do,” Susan murmured, her expression quizzical. “Did she... disclose any information about how long she might be away? I hope that she will not miss out on society events in the coming weeks.”

“Not a word,” whispered Mrs Carlyle, “she seemed very put out by it, and you know how it is, we don’t like to advertise when such issues come up - wouldn’t want the other ladies to think we can’t keep an orderly household, now do we.”

\----------

  
Susan paused as the door latched behind them, the bolts locking firmly into place, one by one, like a vault that had just been sealed. Her eyes darted along the street, as if to assess the early afternoon traffic before she strode down the steps to the carriage, her pace increasing with each footstep.

“We’ve had a change in our plans for the afternoon,” she called out to the coachman, “Proceed to Chancery Lane. The usual address.” And in a flash, she had disappeared into the recesses of the carriage, Esther following.

“Chancery Lane?” Esther asked as the door closed, “but we have a full afternoon in St James's Square.”

“Yes, well, that will have to wait, dear. _Insufferable_ woman,” she muttered under her breath.

“I take it that you did not expect Mrs Campion to leave London?”

“I fear that I’ve become too comfortable with the plan as it was,” Susan looked out at the street, turning until her bonnet obscured her profile, her head tottering as the wheels met the cobblestone of Piccadilly, “a wheel cannot function when the hub does not stay firmly fixed at its centre.”

“And she is central to your plan?” Esther eyed her curiously.

“In a manner of speaking, yes... she is the one piece of it I would not wish to move - not after how events have transpired.”

“Because when she moves-”

“Chaos,” Susan finished, glancing sideways at Esther, her head turned just enough for their eyes to meet, “to a degree I cannot yet fathom, dear.”

\----------

  
The sun had set on the village of Chipping Barnet, and with it, the inns of the village fell into an uncharacteristically quiet interlude. The landlord of _The Red Lion_ crouched low over the floor, swearing under his breath as he scrubbed away at the bloodstain that had been sitting for hours, unnoticed in the near-constant commotion of the afternoon. He wiped away the suds, now the shade of rust, then grunted in annoyance at the unrelenting mark upon the floor, which appeared unchanged. He continued, brushing away fiercely as a cold gust washed over him, sending stray leaves skittering through the inn’s entry, and as footsteps approached, the persistent scrubbing came to a halt.

“Yer late,” he growled, looking up at the familiar cloaked figure who had just entered.

“Of course I’m late,” said the man, “have you not seen the state of the roads? We nearly lost a wheel trekking through all that mud.”

“I’ll stop yeh right there. I don’t want to hear about any more bleedin’ carriages,” the landlord spouted, his voice rising before he could check himself. 

“Right…” said the man, “an eventful afternoon, I take it?”

“Yeh missed him,” the landlord croaked as he stood, “he came an’ went hours ago now - before your letter even arrived.”

“And?”

“They ran into another set, a man named Parker - in this very hall, in fact.”

“Parker? Was he travelling with others?”

“His wife and another man. Had a run-in with a bloke early on in his visit, then ran into Townshend later on and now I'm left to clean up their mess,” said the landlord, gesturing towards the stain on the floor. 

”I’m sorry, did you say his-“

“Townshend left a note for yeh,” the landlord walked over to the desk near the entry, and dropped a folded letter in front of him, “Slipped it to me during all the commotion, while the other two men started chasing Mr Parker out of the inn.”

“They... what?”

“Yeh heard right - and they crashed their carriage in the pursuit.”

“They...crashed a carriage? Well...was Townshend injured?”

“No, not quite - a few bruises but not more’n that. He left wi’ the other men, though, bound for Norfolk from what I heard.”

“Good God,” said the man, stepping forward to grab the letter. He unfolded it immediately, his eyes moving back and forth so rapidly they looked out of focus, and the landlord watched as they widened exponentially. “Damn,” he all but shouted, “Damn. Damn. Damn it all!”

The landlord shook his head, “I knew something wasn't right - knew it from the moment he walked in. He’s never arrived with others.”

“The others...did you identify them?”

“Yes, one a demanding fellow Mr Parker called Robert, and the other, a shady looking bloke called Bridges.”

“Robert Campion,” he rubbed at his eyes, “of _course_ , she would send for Robert.”

“Is there anything else I might do to help, Mr Bicknell?”

“Oh, probably not,” he said bitterly, “I’ve just discovered that not one, but likely two of my informants have been found out, Roger. And I’ve not a clue of what to do to fix it.”


	45. Chapter 45

Mary had been seated for hours in the study at Bedford Place. The desktop was strewn with layers of old letters from Georgiana, and she continued assiduously combing through yet another box of correspondence, seeking a word, a clue - anything that might offer up more information on her whereabouts. She heard the distant rumblings of the footman's voice as he greeted someone at the front door, and she took stock of the veritable nest of paper she had created in the hours since Sidney left for Gretna Green, making a last-minute attempt to tidy the room as the voices came nearer.

“Susan,” she started, pushing her chair back reflexively to stand, reacting to her sudden appearance in the study's doorway.

She paused before stepping into the room, taking a look at the mounds of paper upon the desk. “You’ve been busy, I see,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” Mary felt herself flush slightly as she took in her surroundings through another’s eyes, “I suppose I’m merely doing my part. Waiting alone for news did not suit me, after all.”

"Right... I can just about imagine how that must feel."

"I imagine you could."

"Mary..." Susan sat in a chair before the desk, lowering herself slowly as the fire crackled in the grate, and looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure,” she said at last, “where or how to begin.” She lifted her gaze to Mary’s across the desk, “but I must ask for your forgiveness for what I am about to say.”

\----------

“Really, Mrs Higgins, that was the most delightful dining room. I could pass an entire evening there quite happily with such refreshments.”

The head housekeeper at Hemlock Hall blushed, her eyelids fluttering as she gazed at the floor for a moment as if to collect herself. “You are too kind, Mr… what was it again?”

“Denham. Edward Denham,” Arthur said in a jolly tone that made Georgiana suppress a laugh of her own. 

“You will find my brother's moods to be irritatingly infectious,” said Georgiana, finally finding an outlet for her amusement over Arthur's performance.

“Brother… ?” the housekeeper looked between them, confused, "oh dear, I do apologise. I thought you two were..."

“That we were...not brother and sister?" Arthur said, beginning to laugh, “Oh, nooo, no, no. My dear sister and I are related paternally. After mother died, our father found a new love in dear Clara’s mother. It rather seems a lifetime ago, doesn't it, dear sister?”

Georgiana looked over at him, "like another lifetime, entirely."

“Oh... indeed,” the housekeeper looked from Arthur to Georgiana and back again, wide-eyed at the story as silence fell around them.

“Right...” Georgiana continued, “tell me, Mrs Higgins, where might we be off to next?”

“Well,” Mrs Higgins stepped lightly down the corridor, “the reception room is up ahead, and I have yet to show you the grandest part of the house: the _fountain_ _court_." She spoke the words in an excited whisper as if it were the manor's best-kept secret.

“Does the house have a library?” asked Georgiana, “Or a study of sorts? We are in the planning stages of refurbishing the study at Denham Place, you see, and I was rather hoping to be inspired before our journey home.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mrs Higgins said, wringing her hands slightly, “but... I’m afraid that the late Mr Campion’s former study is off-limits to guests.”

“Oh,” said Georgiana, looking away, “of course, I understand. It's only... I had heard from a friend that the... _desk_ was quite a sight to behold.”

"I'm sorry, did you say the _desk_ , dear?" Mrs Higgins asked.

“We wouldn’t tell a soul that we had been shown the room,” Arthur flashed a smile at Mrs Higgins. “Clara is a very visual person, you see. In fact, this... desk... was rather the sole purpose of our visit.”

“The… sole purpose…” Mrs Higgins looked back and forth between them, “and…you would only need a moment to see it?”

“Just a glance would do,” said Georgiana, “we might even pass by the room and observe from a distance if that is more to your liking.”

“Well…” said Mrs Higgins, “as it happens, the mistress is out at present. Perhaps I might just crack open the door? I’d hate for you to waste a trip, and I do admit it is a very grand room.”

“A generous offer, Mrs Higgins. We are grateful for your hospitality,” Arthur said, and Georgiana noticed that her reaction wasn't quite a flustered as it had been previously.

“We are not far,” said Mrs Higgins, “in fact, it is on the way to the fountain court.”

“Splendid,” said Arthur, “I imagine it has rather grand views of the landscape.”

“The grandest of views,” said Mrs Higgins, as she jetted along the corridor, nervous energy propelling her forward to complete the task as quickly as possible. Georgiana and Arthur followed closely behind - and as Arthur made light conversation, his sister became quieter than usual, taking mental notes of each passing room, counting each door as they progressed down the western wing of the manor.

\----------

“Honestly, Mary, I don’t know where to begin.” Susan touched her forehead absently, taking a moment to formulate her thoughts, “but as your friend, please consider that what I am about to tell you is information I wished to give you long ago - but I was advised against it.”

“I… don’t understand. Advised against what?”

“The solicitor we met, some weeks ago… Mr Bicknell… you are aware that he works almost exclusively for the Prince Regent.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“You might have also gathered that he prefers to use more private channels to acquire information.”

“Do you speak of him collecting information from Mrs Campion's staff? Was there not a footman involved?"

“Mr Bicknell has employed various informants in the field - trusted individuals who have been tasked with, at times, taking great risks to obtain the information he seeks.”

“And?”

“His network has been following Eliza for some time, it is true. But there is one individual who was... until very recently, that is... given a separate task.”

\----------

“There we are,” Mrs Higgins said, at last, opening an oak door so large and heavy that Georgiana was rather impressed by her strength. She darted a glance down the deserted corridor, still wringing her hands as she motioned for them to go in. “I shall wait for you out here, dears,” she said, and they entered Mr Campion’s former study.

“Very grand, indeed,” Georgiana said, walking straight over to the desk, eyeing it from different angles. She touched the surface of it, looking closely to examine the wood, and turned her back to the entrance, her eye travelling across the papers scattered upon the desktop.

“Mrs Higgins,” she heard Arthur call, “when was the spiral staircase installed?”

Georgiana moved around to the desk chair, crouching low to pull out the bottom drawer. “My, that is _lovely_ ,” Arthur called out, and she stood abruptly upon hearing the words. Mrs Higgins, noticing her position behind the desk, had begun to walk in her direction. Georgiana smiled as innocently as she could as she pushed the drawer back in slowly with her foot.

“Just… examining this _lovely_ desk chair,” she smiled at Mrs Higgins. “We might go with something similar, I think.”

“Yes,” Mrs Higgins gave her a look that was dripping with suspicion, her lips pursed in disapproval, “I think perhaps you have seen enough, dear. Come along, now, let us continue to the fountain court. I rather think we have run out of time to see the reception room.”

She motioned for the two of them to go on ahead of her, and they were back out in the corridor within seconds. Mrs Higgins began spouting facts on the history of her beloved fountain court and Arthur responded with enthusiasm, asking questions as Georgiana resumed counting each door they passed by, and on occasion, she smiled at Mrs Higgins as she turned back with a sudden look of alarm, as if certain that Georgiana had escaped back to the study.

Within the hour, the front door to Hemlock Hall had closed rather firmly behind them and they proceeded to the carriage. “Tell me, sister,” said Arthur, offering his arm, “did you find what you intended?”

“Of course I didn’t find what I intended. And why are you still calling me sister?”

“Habits can form more quickly than one might imagine, dear sister,” Arthur said with a grin, “so then, what next?”

“We can’t just leave it at that. There is more to be found in that study, I’m sure of it.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

She met his eye across the carriage, “We return after nightfall.”

“And what, fleece the place?”

“If my estimations are correct, the windows to the study are the eleventh and twelfth on the western wing.”

“Lord, you do wish to break in,” Arthur said, rubbing nervously at an eyebrow.

“I won’t go back empty-handed, Arthur,” she said impatiently, “not when there is so much that we might come upon. Will you help me?”

“For you, dear sister, I would do most anything.”

\----------

Mary looked away at the fire, connecting the patterns in her mind, and shook her head in disbelief. “Georgiana.”

“She wanted to be of use, to do something for our cause-”

“And you chose not to tell me. _Why_ ,” she said firmly.

“Because initially she was tasked with following your husband. We did not know if he could be trusted, Mary, and if I am honest with myself, I had no wish to alarm you over it. It was only a precaution, you see.”

“Did she find anything?”

“Nothing of note, no.”

“So Bicknell decided to give her a new assignment, is that it?”

“He did nothing of the sort.”

“So you think she just ran off on her own?”

“I have reason to believe that she ran off with a purpose in mind. There is one recent development that has caused me to believe that Georgiana was, in fact, en route to a much different location than we originally thought.”

"She didn't go to Gretna Green," Mary whispered, wiping at her eyes, "I admit that I had begun to doubt it, myself, after reading her letters again."

"I believe that she and Arthur may have gone to Eliza Campion's estate in Norfolk to attempt to uncover information."

"But Mrs Campion's estate is out in the middle of nowhere, is it not? Surely, they could not-"

"I discovered today that Eliza has made an abrupt exit from London, bound for Norfolk - to attend to some trouble that has occurred there."

"And you think she- _Georgiana_ \- could be in-"

"I fear it, yes." Susan reached across the desk, her hand landing on a stack of letters, Georgiana's signature beneath her fingertips as Mary placed her own hand over it.

"What next?" she asked, her vision blurred as she sniffed.

"We wait, dear," said Susan quietly, "and we trust that Mr Bicknell, or even Sidney, may reach her first."


	46. Chapter 46

It was well past midnight, and heat still radiated from the fireplace in Mr Campion’s study, warming the two figures who had just entered through a window along the western wing.

“Looks like I counted correctly,” Georgiana said as she locked the study door, her eye drawn to the tiered bookcases that surrounded the fireplace, then upward, to the balcony that spanned the length of the study.

“Are you… accustomed to carrying knives?” Arthur asked warily as he stoked the coals of the fire. The sudden appearance of flames illuminated the bookcases nearest them.

She pocketed the small blade, “It would be foolish to trust that you would always be around to protect me - and it proved useful to break into this very room, did it not?”

“I suppose you are right, Miss Lambe, but I am rather put off that you have assumed I may not make it out of this intact.”

“Well,” she flashed a grin at him in the darkness, “I wouldn't say I didn't entertain the possibility.”

“I’ll have you know-” he started in an affronted tone.

“That you are more capable than I give you credit for? Is that it?” she asked. Her smile faded as she studied him, “Yes, I can just about imagine what that might be like.”

The fire bloomed to life and Arthur brushed ash from his breeches as he stood. “I have no doubt you could, Miss Lambe.”

She had drifted over to the desk, now bathed in the glow of firelight, and lingered almost hesitantly over it. “That’s... unusual.”

“How do you mean?”

“The papers on the desk. They seem to have multiplied since we were here last.”

“Well… Mrs Higgins wasn’t very pleased with our meddling. Perhaps she looked everything over after we left.”

“Perhaps,” Georgiana murmured, a hand hovering over the desktop, “but why?”

She crouched down to open the bottom drawer for the second time that day, her hand reaching down into the shadows, grasping at nothing but air.

“What is it?” Arthur stepped toward her.

“Arthur… I’m beginning to think someone else has done exactly what we came to do ourselves.”

“What?”

“The drawer… it’s been emptied.”

A look of alarm flashed over his face as Georgiana searched through the imposing mahogany desk.

“Miss Lambe,” he looked to his feet, then crouched down to examine papers strewn across the floor.

“It doesn't make any sense. It's almost as if-,” she paused.

She looked around the room, at the darkest corners of it, the places hidden in shadow, suddenly aware of the fact that they may not be the only ones to occupy it. The fire popped.

“Impossible-” she murmured, at last, turning back to the desktop, “Bicknell would have told me if he had stationed someone here.”

Arthur gathered the papers on the floor, “I should hope so, Miss Lambe,” he said, shifting stacks of paper back to the desktop. Georgiana reached for them.

“Yes, well, it will do us no good now to dwell upon it,” she said, tilting the paper to catch the light, “But I dread to think what information might have been lost to us.”

“And I dread to think what they might have sought,” Arthur said, turning to look over his shoulder to the spiral staircase. “You don’t think they might-”

“What… still be here?” she asked, an eyebrow raised, “Don’t let the unknowns get the better of you, Arthur.”

“Right…” He peered over his shoulder one last time and went back to gathering papers from the floor.

Georgiana reached for another stack, and worked through it one page at a time, scanning the contents of every letter and document she came across. “For someone so rich,” she let another page flutter back to the desk, “she has an alarming amount of debt.”

“Anything we might use?”

She shuffled through more papers as Arthur combed through what remained on the floor.

“Miss Lambe-” he started, lifting the stack closer to his face, “Were you familiar with the name of Campion… before.”

“Before?”

“Coming to England.”

She swallowed. “It is a common enough name.”

“She owned a plantation?” he scanned the document a second time, then tossed it up to her.

She scanned the paper, “a bill of sale?”

“Read the name.”

“From Eliza to… Robert Campion.” The document trembled in her hand.

“And she made a hefty profit from it, as it looks,” he slid the next few pages over to her.

“Arthur… hand over the rest of that stack.”

She paged through; her face inches away as she read the tidy script. “I need you to search for a set of ledgers,” she breathed, rubbing at her forehead absently.

He came upon a candle, set upon the table before the fire, and lit it in the flames, exploring the bookcases that bordered the room as Georgiana pulled out the drawers of the desk completely, reaching as far back as she could to check for hidden compartments or sliding panels - anything that might reveal more.

“Miss Lambe,” she heard Arthur call out in a whisper from the balcony above.

“Yes?”

“You might wish to see this-”

She dashed for the spiral staircase, lifting her skirts as she stepped lightly, moving as quickly as she could in the quiet, “Did you find them-”

He grinned back at her, standing in front of an entire wall of ledger books, shelved neatly apart from one lower shelf at the end, on which the books tilted haphazardly. She walked to the last section, crouching low to reach the very bottom shelf, and pulled the last ledger from its place. She flipped through its pages.

“Nothing suspicious,” she said quietly, standing back to examine the pillars along either side of the bookcase, “and yet - it’s all a bit too unblemished. I don't believe a word.”

She ran her foot along the base of the bookcase, the wooden mouldings taking shape, “My father had a series of dentil mouldings similar to this in his study,” she said. “Seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? To have something so extravagant at your feet.”

“That is a bit strange,” Arthur said, moving the candle closer.

“But, the thing is,” she said, putting more pressure upon them with her foot, “elaborate designs such as this might also have a purpose - a means of justifying the unnecessary ornamentation.” She had reached the third dentil from the end, and it gave way under the pressure. The bookcase rotated before them, to reveal a second bookcase.

Arthur looked at her, blinking as if he were still registering what he had just witnessed. “Bravo, Miss Lambe,” he whispered.

She eyed the contents of the hidden bookcase, which was sparsely stocked, “A manor house is little more than a showroom, Arthur - the darkest secrets are always hidden from view.”

She lifted the last ledger from the dusty lower shelf. Its cover was pristine, almost untouched, compared to the others. “Now, I wonder,” she said, flipping the cover open, the sarcasm in her voice evident, “why the Campions might find a need to keep two ledgers for the same year.” She glanced up at Arthur, “I’ll give you three guesses as to which illegal activity they are engaging in regularly enough to fill so many pages.”

Arthur hovered over her as she turned the pages. “Since when did the Campions trade in Africa?”

“She didn’t just own a plantation, Arthur,” Georgiana said, looking up at him, “according to that bill of sale you found, the Campions owned a ship as well.”

“For exports?”

She ran a finger along the columns of the ledger, “They exported brandy, hats, and knives from Britain - all within the past year.”

“Well, that is not unusual… is it?”

“Not at first glance, no. But... the ship took port at Bonny,” she said, seeing that he hadn’t registered her meaning.

"Mmm? Oh, yes, yes. Bonny..."

“It’s a trading port. The Bight of Biafra.”

“You speak as if it were a crime to trade in Africa,” he continued.

“What, dear Arthur, do you think they traded them for?”

She turned the page, and Arthur stood over her, silenced over the new columns that appeared in the ledger upon the ship’s port in Antigua.

“Two and thirty men, women and children,” she murmured as she snapped the ledger shut, her eye drawn back to the bookcase, “on a single page.” She reached out to run a hand along the row of ledgers in front of her. “And yet, I wonder how many more are hidden away.”

The candlelight heightened Arthur’s drawn expression, “But, how? How might this have happened in the last year when slavery has been abolished for so long.”

“It hasn’t,” she said, pulling out another ledger, “Not really. Do you think the Campions would give up all of this,” she gestured to the expansive room they overlooked, “the source that has funded their hidden bookcases and _fountain courts_ when they might as easily get away with continuing their trade.”

“But… Sidney would never have-”

“Perhaps he has no idea…” she murmured, her eyes alighting, “what she would do to win… Arthur, do you have the bill of sale?”

“N-no,” he said, “I gave it to you.”

“I must have dropped it on the desk when you called,” she drifted off, brushing her forehead again, “But, wouldn’t it all make sense-”

“Miss Lambe?”

“-if she transferred everything to Robert Campion’s name before she made her offer to Sidney. The plantation. The ship. Evidence of her involvement in illegal trade. All resulting in an _exponential_ increase in her overall wealth.”

“Which means-”

“That Tom’s terrace may have been funded with the profits from this very ledger, and that Eliza was foolish enough to believe she wouldn’t be found out,” she said, eyes searching as her mind assembled the pieces, “Keep looking through the rest. We must be sure,” she said, her skirts swishing as she turned.

The spiral staircase creaked under her weight, each footstep seeming louder than the one before. Georgiana paused, her hand upon the railing, her eye on a far corner of the room. She let out a breath.

“Is everything all right?” Arthur called from above.

“Yes, fine,” she whispered, “I… thought I saw something,” she pointed to the far corner of the room with her chin.

“Likely just a trick of the mind, Miss Lambe,” Arthur said, reassuring her, “I was at that very corner in my search not ten minutes ago.”

“Right,” she exhaled, “You’re absolutely right.”

She continued down the staircase, the bill of sale within view in the rapidly dimming firelight. The floor creaked under her feet as she walked to the desk. She grasped the document tightly, as if a gust of wind might come along, and tucked it into her pelisse - but it was the document beneath that caught her attention. She picked it up. “Eliza, you fool,” she whispered as the floor creaked again. “Arthur… was that you?” And again. 

She spun around, looking up into the wide-eyed gaze of her companion, still as a statue upon the balcony. Footsteps, just outside. She motioned to Arthur, then made for the spiral staircase. The doorknob rattled.

With a huff, the light of the candle was extinguished. A single line of smoke billowed up to the ceiling above the balcony, and just then, the door to Mr Campion’s study clicked open.


	47. Chapter 47

Georgiana had stopped breathing. The dentil mouldings, which had only moments ago been at her feet, pressed painfully into her lower back. She was splayed across the balcony floor in the precise spot where she had landed, one foot still hooked over the edge where she had leapt. She shifted, attempting to catch Arthur’s eye before realising that it was too dark to even make him out. The only thing that assured her of his presence, tucked in the shadows, was the soft, piping wheeze that emerged from the far corner. 

The wall opposite them was lit by the glow of a single candle. The orb of light moved with its carrier to the far wall, and hovered near the window, still open. A breeze wafted through it, causing the orb to dance about the wall as the candle flickered.

“Mrs Higgins,” said the voice, “what time did they leave?”

“They left hours ago, Ma'am. After the tour had finished.”

“The _Denhams_... I don't believe it for a second," she said through gritted teeth, "And how, might I ask, would they have known where the study was located?”

“We… passed it on the way to the fountain court. Perhaps they viewed it from afar.”

The light moved again, rotating into the centre of the room, and Georgiana caught a glimpse of Eliza Campion, her face lit as if it were aflame.

“And to think - were my arrival some hours earlier, I might have greeted them, myself.” Georgiana heard shuffling as the candlelight paused near the desk.

“At the very least, they do appear to have gone, Ma’am, and should be of no danger to you, now.”

“Oh, Mrs Higgins,” Eliza laughed, “they were never a danger - not to me. But, one must learn not to meddle in my affairs, and if that is a lesson I must teach, it will be a harsh one.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“The fire is still lit a fraction, Mrs Higgins. They won’t be far.”

Arthur shifted in his place as the light moved again - this time toward the study door. Georgiana made an attempt to signal to him in the silence, her eyes flashing wide as the light paused.

The stillness became a deafening roar as she waited, motionless.

"And what of the footman?"

"James, Ma'am?"

"Has he made any appearances?"

"No, not since we wrote you."

Georgiana looked in Arthur's direction instinctively, feeling his presence.

"I see," she said, lifting the light higher, and Georgiana saw it. The skirt beneath her pelisse had pooled about her on the balcony floor. The silk travelled like water, collecting in places, flowing outward from its source, shimmering in the light as it fell over the balcony's edge, and swayed like an aubergine bunting caught in the breeze. 

The room fell into silence as the light shone higher, closer to revealing them both. Georgiana reached instinctively for the pocket in her pelisse, her hand poised over it, ready to grab the last form of self-defence she may have left. And then, the light moved, lowering, casting them both in shadow once again.

“Mrs Higgins,” said Eliza, quietly, “come along.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” Her voice shook as she said the words.

Seconds later, the door clicked open and they did not hear it close again.

They waited. Breath hitched. Adrenaline rising as the worst possibilities formed in their minds. And they were met with nothing but silence.

Georgiana lifted her head after what felt like an age. The fire had all but died, reduced to the odd fizz and nothing more. The moonlight was the only source left to guide them.

“Arthur,” she whispered at last, “are you all right?”

“We should go,” he whispered back as she stood slowly.

“I believe I’ve twisted my ankle."

She tested her foot as she braced an arm upon the balustrade. “Could you carry that?” she asked, indicating the ledger that had been discarded in their panic.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said, “It should be enough, you think?”

“It will have to do,” she hopped lightly onto the first step, supporting herself on either side of the staircase. “What are the chances?” she murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“That she would come back to Norfolk the very evening we needed her to stay away.”

“I’ve no idea,” Arthur said, “but it does seem very unlucky.”

She hopped down to the ground floor and winced as it creaked underfoot. 

“I’ve got you,” Arthur said as the floor creaked next to her. He shifted the ledger beneath one arm and leaned into her. She reached for his shoulder, gripping tightly as she hopped. The floor creaked again.

“Arthur," she breathed, "we need to hurry.”

“Nearly there, Miss Lambe. Nearly there, now.” She looked across the room at the window, which somehow seemed further away with each step to bring them closer. The floor creaked louder as they progressed, the sound amplified in the silence, echoing from the walls around them. She heard Arthur's breath next to her, quick and shallow as he supported her. 

“Arthur…" she started, looking behind them into the darkness.

“Shhh,” he quieted her, “to the window, now. Come on.”

They were still paces away when he scooped her up, supporting her legs as he walked unsteadily to the window, his breath coming faster.

She glanced behind them into the dark expanse of the study as she heard it again, in the room this time. Not footsteps, something lighter. A rhythmic clicking upon the wooden floor. 

Georgiana gripped his arm as a deep, guttural snarl filled the room. Arthur kept moving - lifting her legs through the open window, holding her until she landed lightly upon the grass. “Arthur, come on!” she said, pulling forcefully at his arms.

He pushed the ledger through the open window, and jolted forward, crying out. 

She pulled at his large form, the ledger landing in the grass next to her as she tugged at his arms, his shoulders - the window's opening somehow smaller than it had seemed before. "Arthur!"

“Remember to travel south," he said through clenched teeth, "The carriage will be waiting.”

“No,” she cried, “I’m not leaving.”

"Yes, you are," his chin trembled, "Georgiana, don't waste this chance. You have everything you need to fix this."

"That's not true."

“ _Go_ ,” he said desperately. His eyes widened, more visible than ever as the room lit up behind him. The glow of candlelight had returned, and with one last look at her, he retreated backwards, shielding her still as the second hound attacked.

She stared in horror at the sight, limping backwards, Arthur’s words fresh in her mind. 

A sob escaped as her vision blurred, and she stepped back again, her body colliding with a solid form. She breathed in as a hand covered her mouth, tears running down onto it as she writhed and scratched. She pried at the arms wrapped firmly around her as the figure guided her backwards, then stumbled, her ankle giving way - and as the arms supported her, she stilled, inhaling as she registered the scent. “Don’t say a word,” said the voice in her ear, and she sobbed again. 

\----------

Something had covered Sidney Parker’s mouth. He shook his head to fend it off, inhaling swiftly before the form took shape, hovering in front of him.

“Charlotte, what are you doing.” He hardly got out the words before the cloth brushed over his mouth again and pressed down, hard. The pain throbbed through the muscles in his cheek, travelled to the bruise on his chin.

“You need cleaning up again,” she murmured, “I’ve only just noticed it.”

“Surely that can wait,” he protested. 

“Are you sure about that?” she smiled, “Because you’re bleeding.”

He swallowed, then lifted a hand to his mouth, touching the split in his lip that never quite managed to heal.

“Not to worry,” she said, pressing down again, “I’m just trying to hold it off.”

Sidney glanced over at Linton.

“He’s asleep,” she whispered, her face floating in front of him again.

“I imagined he must be if you were-”

“What, within an arm’s length of you?” she grinned.

“Yes.”

He glanced at her, catching her gaze - holding it, for a time. The jolts of pain he had felt a moment ago had transformed - to a heat that radiated outward, travelling gradually down to his neck, his chest. He blinked. It must be the middle of the night.

“I never asked,” she said, the look of concentration reappearing as she focused on the task, “whether Linton found anything.”

“Mmm?”

“At the inn.”

“I… couldn’t say,” he croaked.

The pressure lifted slightly as she peered at him. “There was bruising, then,” she said, and removed the cloth from his lip. He felt a sharp sting as the air hit the newly sealed cut.

“Charlotte-”

“I want to see it.”

She looked at him, her chin raised, resolute - and for a moment, he was silenced by it. He shook his head slowly. “There is nothing more to be done.”

Her fingertips moved over his waistcoat, “If it had been me-”

“Charlotte-”

“-And there was even a chance that I had been injured,” she continued, tilting her head in amused annoyance. He felt her fingertips through the layers of fabric as she unbuttoned along his lower neck, his chest, “Well,” she murmured, “I trust you would do the same.”

He blinked again, a flush rising up his neck. “This is not the way I-”

“I don’t care about that,” she said, working quickly, “and you won’t convince me to stop.”

“Linton could wake at any moment.”

“Yes, he could,” she smiled, “so we had best get on with it.”

She had reached his abdomen, and seconds later, the rapid thrumming of his heart all but ceased, sending a wave of paralysis through him as she released the final button. His waistcoat parted traitorously as her hand drifted to his chest. “Why must you insist upon seeing it yourself.”

“Isn’t it always better to know? Rather than allowing your imagination to get the better of you.”

“And… if it is far worse than you imagined-”

She smiled, glancing down at his mouth, “Then,” she brought the cloth back to his lip, pressing again, “there will still be comfort in knowing, Mr Parker.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I do,” she said, releasing the pressure on his lip again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she lifted his chin to look closer.

He blinked as she hovered, the lantern light creating auras on her skin. “Fine,” he said, as she drifted down to his neck, seeking a pulse. Her hands moved lower, past his shoulders, tucking beneath his waistcoat.

“Sidney…”

Before he fully noticed, he was gripping her hand, stuck in its place over his chest, deciding as he searched her eyes one last time. “I have waited, deliberated to within an inch of my life for _weeks_ , and you force me into telling you in the middle of the night with a chaperone mere feet away.”

She searched his eyes, confusion drowning out any trace of amusement as she tried to make him out in the silence, registering his words, deciphering them. “You’ve been hiding something from me,” she faded off briefly, her hand clutching at his shirt as her fingertips curved, then relaxed against him, the dead weight of realisation upon them both, “haven’t you.”

“Perhaps I had it all wrong.” Their hands rose and fell together as the darkness surrounded them, pressing inward, “perhaps… I might have shown you when I couldn’t find the words.”

“Surely, you would have told me if-” Her mouth opened, and for a moment she resisted as he tried to move their hands, holding them both, fixed, against his chest.

“Please, just let me-”

He looked into her eyes, pleading silently as he clasped her hand tighter against his chest, and she eased her hold on him, blinking rapidly as he guided her hand. The cotton of his shirt moved beneath them, brushing against his skin as they passed over the first broken rib, then the next. He could hear her breathing as their hands moved over his torso, and waited an eternity, knowing that eventually, she would feel the wound, twisted and scarred, the bandage fresh from the inn. He inhaled sharply, “I didn’t know how to say it.”

The familiar ache coursed through him as her fingertips brushed his side, and he sucked in another breath, the air hissing into his lungs as he gritted his teeth, “Sidney-” she broke off, “what happened to you-”.

She tugged at his shirt, pulling it forcefully upwards, exposing the bare flesh beneath, her fingertips cold against his skin. “Somewhere along the way, you became the most important part of my life,” he said, taking in another breath as her hand moved across his torso, searching for the source, “I wanted to protect you, to continue on as we were - to always be the same in your eyes-”

Her hand ran over the bandage and stopped, fingers spanning the length of it. Her eyes shone as the light passed over them, then all but disappeared from view, “Why didn’t you just say it?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” he breathed, feeling the splintered pain in his ribs as she moved her hand over them. And still, he was intoxicated by the novelty of it - Charlotte’s fingertips upon his skin - the heightened sensitivity impossible to ignore as she sought further damage. He lifted his fingers to her cheek, brushed the hair back from her face, moving inward until his forehead rested upon hers - and he could not resist the chance. He caught her lips roughly, the sudden pressure sending an ache through him, the cut on his lip numbed at the contact. She pushed back into him - fingers pressing, covering the bandage again as he sucked in another breath, her scent obscuring the deeper ache that emerged as they broke apart.

“Charlotte-” he said, closing his eyes tightly, willing it to last as he breathed her in again.

He felt the sudden release of pressure - heard the intake of breath as she pulled her hand away, trembling as the light passed over them. And as he looked down at the evidence, smeared black against her palm, her fingers, she hovered before him once again, floating. “I know.”

She reached for the cloth and pushed it against him as the carriage lurched and sent them careening forward - her movements delayed as his mind spun. She extended her arm to shield him. “Linton,” she cried, “Linton, please, help me.”

He was blinking opposite them, “Master Parker? No, it was fine. The wound was fine when we left.”

“He’s bleeding, Linton. I don’t know-” she faded off. Her hands trembled as they pressed down again. He leaned back against the seat, taking her in as he breathed through the pain. The carriage halted in the middle of the road, and in the extremities of his mind, he envisioned what was to come. He heard the footsteps, heavy upon the near-frozen earth, amplified in the quiet - the muffled exchange with the coachmen. They were just outside, now.

“Charlotte-” he lifted her chin as the voices approached, her eyes wild with panic, “it was only out of love.”

The door clicked open. Hands tore at his shoulders, the collar of his overcoat, and he was pulled from her grasp. His eyes remained fixed upon her as he fell backwards, her cries extinguished as the road knocked the remaining breath from his body.

Ringing silence overtook him, and as the world faded away, Charlotte floated in a haze above him, auras blooming, encircling - until she, too, disappeared.


	48. Chapter 48

_‘If you could take a single memory from our time together-’_

_‘Charlotte, I’m not sure I like where this is going.’_

_‘I know it sounds ominous, but I should like to know.’_

_‘If it doesn’t work out for us, you mean.’_

_‘There must be one that stands out from the rest.’_

_‘Undoubtedly, there is one particular memory I revisit more often than the rest, yes.’_

_‘And? Are you planning to leave me in suspense?’_

_‘The night we reunited, in London.’_

_‘So recent. You wouldn’t choose an earlier memory? From before?’_

_‘I don’t think I could - not when experience has altered my perspective as it has.’_

_‘Is this your roundabout way of telling me you were changed for the better, being apart.’_

_‘Changed, yes. But I find it was more than that. I saw you again that night and it was as if everything had realigned - despite every obstacle in our path, it seemed… possible.’_

_‘And you would always wish for it to feel possible - if we can’t continue on.’_

_‘I would, yes.’_

_‘Then… granted. Our reunion in London for all eternity, if you wish it.’_

_‘I might relive that evening for the rest of time, Miss Heywood, and never once tire of seeing you.’_

_\----------_

How does one react when their beloved lay motionless upon the ground - when action might lead to knowing. They watch from afar. For a second, an hour; time has little meaning, now.

“No,” Linton murmured, “He was fine.”

Charlotte’s hand trembled at the sound. She broke her gaze, looking down at the cloth - her hand like ice, frozen as it clung to the last remnants of warmth, the blackened stains ever-present in the diminished lantern light.

“It can’t be,” Linton arose, staggering from the carriage, unsteady on the ground until he dropped to his knees. The three men outside it stepped back into the light.

“It can’t be,” she repeated, clinging to the words.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Linton looked at each man in turn before hunching over Sidney’s lifeless form. “My boy,” he wept, trembling as he stroked his forehead, feeling for a pulse at his neck, “you can’t go - not before me.” His hands moved coat and waistcoat aside, the dark stain visible along his side, now - and the men they had last encountered at _The Red Lion_ hovered, as if uncertain of how to proceed.

“Get up,” She looked on as Robert Campion intervened, dragging Linton from the body by his collar.

“It can’t be,” she said again, breathing deeply, clutching the cloth tighter as she willed his body to move. But Sidney Parker remained still, his complexion growing paler still in the lantern’s warm glow. 

“Thought you could sabotage our carriage, did you,” Robert said through clenched teeth, “cause a little disruption on our journey.”

“Let me go,” Linton seethed, prying at Robert’s arm around his neck, “Can you not see that he is near death. Or do you want to leave here with a man’s blood on your hands?”

Robert laughed, “Do you really think I care if he lives or dies? If only I had finished him back at the inn.”

Linton froze, his fingertips turning white as they dug into the man’s arm, and Charlotte gripped the cloth tighter, clenching her jaw as anger began to overpower the panic coursing through her. 

“Were I not equipped with a blade so dull, he wouldn’t have made his escape.”

In a moment, Linton’s expression transformed into something murderous as his hands trembled with the force of his grip. His jaw clenched as he let out a broken cry, the force of it echoing around them as he pushed back against Robert with all of his might, and they both tumbled to the ground. 

And in a single breath, Charlotte came to, seeing the chance for what it was as she stumbled from the carriage, willing her legs to support her as she went to the body lying upon the ground, her mind resisting every step until she dropped to his side. 

She reached for his neck, seeking any sign of a pulse, moving down to his heart, her hands trembling so violently, they could hardly grip his waistcoat as she lifted it and placed the cloth firmly against his side. 

She gritted her teeth as she tried to gain control of her hands, holding both sides of the waistcoat, now - focusing with all she had left as she attempted to fasten the button at his waist. The sound of her own breathing became amplified in her ears.

Hands pulled at her shoulders and she pushed them away, screaming in frustration as she attempted it again, looping the button through as her hair was tugged from above with such force it lifted her to a standing position.

She looked up, the figure of Linton only just visible. They had taken him several strides from the carriage, “You put up a fight?” said the voice in her ear, as the man called Bridges looped an arm around her neck - his putrid breath washed over her as he held her head in place, “you watch.”

She saw him emerge from the darkness, looking sorrowfully in her direction. "Lord Townshend," she murmured.

“Miss Heywood, I-” he started, his eyes shining.

“Now!” shouted Robert, “I won’t be made a fool of. We might have been killed ourselves after their little sabotage.”

“I had no wish for you to see this,” Townshend called out. 

And that was when she saw it - a flintlock pistol shining briefly in the light as he stepped closer to Linton, who was in Robert's grasp, kneeling upon the ground, facing away from them. Robert moved back as he approached, the gun only feet away from Linton’s slumped form. 

“No,” she said, writhing in the arms of Bridges as she scratched at his eyes, his face, and he shook her violently in return. She lifted her feet from the ground, forcing him to carry her weight as they came back down again. She pushed backwards, knocking her head into his and he fell, his arms still tight around her. 

She heard a sickening crack as they collided with a large object behind them, then rolled sideways to the ground. Bridges lay behind her, the carriage wheel within view, and she crawled away from him, looking back as a long, drawn-out moan escaped from him, a dark pool of blood forming at his temple.

She stumbled backwards. The sound of the pistol firing filled the air, echoing through the night - and another figure dropped to the ground. 

\----------

Gunsmoke permeated the air. A second shot sounded, and Charlotte ran - away from the carriage, into the darkness. The smoke enveloped her like a dense fog, her heart rising out of her chest as she scanned the landscape.

The pistol was still raised in Townshend’s shaking hand - his arm extended - and their surroundings fell into a silence broken only by Charlotte’s cry. “What have you done-”

He turned to her. “Charlotte, I- I had to.” 

She ran to the body, slumped over in the darkness, and caught sight of the damages - blood seeping through shirt and waistcoat, his overcoat torn open. “I-” she stopped, breathing in deeply, “I don’t think I can-”

“He would have killed you,” Townshend whispered, “or worse. I couldn’t let him do that - not to you.”

She paused in the darkness, reaching for the lapels of the man’s overcoat as she turned the body into the light. It was Robert Campion. “You haven’t-”

“What? No, of course not. Miss Heywood - I am on your side.”

“Then, where has he gone?”

They turned instinctively, the lantern light drawing them back to the form that had wandered over to his master, and knelt next to him, removing Sidney's bandages one layer at a time.

“ _Linton_ ,” Charlotte whispered, the air absent from her lungs as she rushed over to him, falling down to the ground opposite him.

“I - am afraid I may not be able to treat him. Not something so severe,” he said, sniffing, defeated, “I might only wind the bandages a bit tighter, Miss Heywood, and hope it will be enough.”

“He’s-”

Linton nodded, “feel it for yourself if you must.”

Her fingertips glided over his neck, searching for a pulse that would not emerge - until a slight beat thrummed upwards along his neck - weakened, but present. “He’s alive,” she sobbed. Any words she might have said caught in her throat as she looked across at Linton, who could do nothing more than nod a second time, his eyes shining in the light.

“Might I suggest we take him somewhere nearby?” Lord Townshend called out, and they both turned. “My home - Raynham Hall - is not far. We might have him there within the hour.”

\----------

_‘And you, Miss Heywood? You must have a memory in mind for yourself.’_

_‘I couldn’t possibly say.’_

_‘Grown tired of me already?’_

_She had smiled at this. He remembered it, still._

_‘If you must know, the memory hasn’t occurred yet.’_

_‘Naturally, you would conjure up an exception. Tell me, is it too late to change my answer?’_

_Her smile broadened._

_‘I would choose the very last, Mr Parker. If I have the last - I hold every memory that came before, even if I can’t relive them.’_

_‘And if our final time together is something akin to a tragedy?’_

_‘I’m willing to take the risk.’_

_‘Well then, it is settled. You shall have a lifetime of memories, and I shall have something to look forward to when the end arrives.’_

_‘Ah yes - possibility.’_

_‘And the sight of you, when I had resigned myself to believing we might never meet again.’_


	49. Chapter 49

Charlotte circled his brow with her fingertips, skating over temple and cheekbone, the stubble along his jaw, down to his neck. The faint pulse greeted her again, and she moved upwards, tracing the outline of his ear as she attempted to make him out. She dipped her head lower, hair brushing his shoulder as she skirted chin and lower lip, her touch a steady reminder to them both.

The carriage jostled them as it progressed all too quickly down a country lane, and Charlotte placed a hand protectively at his shoulder, keeping Sidney as still as possible as they rushed onward.

Despite the speed at which they travelled, time had begun to stretch to impossible lengths. Every beat of a pulse, every hardly discernable breath, left them waiting for the next.

Lord Townshend had insisted they follow his carriage, that he could guide them through a shortcut to Raynham Hall, which consisted of a lane so indeterminate it could hardly be considered a lane at all. The body of Robert Campion had remained in its place, for the time being. And Bridges, who had awoken shortly before they left, with no recollection of his whereabouts, had been hastily brought along at Charlotte's insistence. After all, they couldn't just leave a man to die, even if he might have done just that - or worse - to any member of their party.

And now, here they were, caught in the transition, the in-between. The relief of having found Sidney, alive, still flooded every sense, every thought that emerged - and yet, as time crept on, it melded with an encroaching dread that seeped into every pore, every crook of her mind. It wasn't supposed to end like this. And yet, as she held her breath, waiting for the next sign that Sidney still breathed on his own, she could no longer deny that it might.

“He survived croup as a boy,” Linton said quietly, moving Sidney's coat aside to check the bandages as she circled around to his forehead, and she paused, looking over at him. The carriage rocked them forward for a moment, then righted them, as they both sought an anchor, better footing on which to balance, crouched next to the seat where Sidney lay. Linton's hands still shook as he worked, the sound of his breath unsteady as he shifted waistcoat and shirt aside to check for signs of further bleeding in the darkness. He righted himself again, eyes searching. “The doctor warned us that he would not live out the night,” he paused, bracing his hands against the edge of the seat as if it were the only thing left to support him, now, “and yet he fought so-”

Charlotte stroked his forehead, moving in closer, searching for the flutter of eyelashes, the raising of an eyebrow - some sign that he could hear them. 

“It happened so quickly then,” Linton murmured, “bedridden one moment and asking for a trek out to the stables the next - as if he had no recollection of what had transpired - how close he had come to taking his last breath.” He brought the back of his hand to his mouth, smiling despite everything as tears welled in his eyes, and took a breath, sharp and fleeting. “I nearly brought him as well. He was strong-willed, even then. So… _determined_.”

“And had you wrapped round his little finger, I imagine,” Charlotte said, tears falling freely down her face as she blinked them away.

"Yes," he emitted something akin to a laugh, a burst of emotion - joy and sorrow in a single sound - and at that moment, she knew that he felt the same sense of foreboding. “I was well prepared for such a life - the hard graft of it - the sacrifice. But the attachment-” he swallowed, shaking his head, “-nothing might have prepared me for that.”

Charlotte’s fingertips paused in their place over Sidney’s pulse, another beat emerging, slight but still present - as if providing an answer he could not give. “Yes,” she whispered, blinking again.

“And yet, here I am, watching him fight for a single breath - and the only thought running through my mind is that he should be in my place, watching me. The world seems very cruel to reverse it - for a man like him to-" he cut off, the glint of a tear, then another, on his cheek as he took in the still form before them, placing a trembling hand upon Sidney's sleeve. "I don't know a life without him."

The air in the carriage suddenly felt further away, impossible to take in, suffocating as she fought for another breath, the reassurance of Sidney's pulse beneath her fingertips flooding hope back into her, fleeting as it was. 

“Then, we must remind him,” Charlotte faltered, breathing in as she skirted Sidney’s forehead again, “that we are still here... of what is worth staying for,” her fingertips traced the edge of his ear, “in whatever way we can.”

\----------

From the moment the carriage doors opened at Raynham Hall, the world began to move around Charlotte, rotating about her as she stood, stagnant, in the gravel drive. And as a hand guided her toward the door they had carried him through, the same thought remained - persistent and unyielding in her mind - as she took one step, then another: _What next? What on earth was next?_


	50. Chapter 50

"Miss Heywood," Linton's voice broke through the white noise. The din in her ears was almost deafening as she stared back at him, feeling as if she had just regained consciousness; a sliver of time lost forever.

And yet, somehow, she remained standing in an unfamiliar room - her mind threatening to slip again as she took in her surroundings. She looked down, and there he was below her, laid out on a table. His exposed skin appeared hazy in the candlelight.

She blinked.

"Miss Heywood-," he started again, "someone, quickly, fetch a chair."

"No," she said, the word sounding harsh to her own ears, "please, I only need a moment." 

She leaned onto the tabletop, her fingers grazing Sidney's arm. It was cold to the touch. 

"We must inspect the wound now - there is no time to waste."

"I am aware," she croaked, exhaustion threatening to take hold until she shook it away, meeting Linton's eyes again.

"Are you... quite certain you wish to stay for this," Linton asked.

"I-" she stopped, brushing his arm again with her fingertips, the motion familiar. A steady stream of tears flowed down her face as she looked down at him again, "I cannot leave his side-" she breathed, moving her fingertips along his arm, realising absently that she sought the comfort of his pulse yet again, "I can't leave."

"Yes," Linton replied, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly, his attention turning to the patient below them, "my thoughts, exactly."

She peered over at her companion, watched as he began to unravel the gauze - the colour of flesh appearing through it as more candles were lit around the room. She noticed a slight tremor in his hand that increased with the removal of each layer, the absence of breathing as he peeled the gauze from Sidney's skin, the silence that fell upon the room as the servants looked on - and once again, the world righted itself and she came to, wiping at her eyes, shaking away what emotion she could for the greater task. 

"We-" she breathed in, her lungs desperate for air, "-will need hot water and clean cloth." 

\----------

Georgiana blinked, her vision blurred again at the sound of the figure’s voice behind her, the large hand still firmly pressed over her mouth as they moved backwards. Her ankle gave way, and the figure’s arms supported her, held her in place. She brought a hand up to the arm that crossed over her torso, the shape familiar beneath her touch - yet in the darkness, she could not be sure. 

She shifted her head and his hand moved with her - his breath landing on her cheek as he paused, breathing faster, now. She pulled at his wrist and it fell away, freeing her as she twisted in his arms - deciphering the planes of his face in the night. “Otis.”

\----------

The light flickered across Sidney’s torso, shifting with each marginal rise of his chest. “What happened to you, Master Parker,” Linton murmured, moving in for a closer look - as if to be sure the candlelight hadn't been playing tricks on them, “… this is not a knife wound at all.”

Charlotte kneeled upon the floor, cloth in hand as she cleaned edges of the wound, working inward - noticing how it puckered, swollen at its centre. “The bandages,” she murmured, “they must have offered him some protection from the blade. Perhaps it did not cut through as we thought.”

“But then…” he started, perplexed, “why has he bled so? I expected a laceration - and a large one, at that - with this much blood.”

Charlotte wiped around the swollen flesh of his side. “Linton,” she said, almost hesitantly, “what did he tell you of the fight - when you changed the bandages at the inn.”

“He didn’t speak a word of that,” Linton said, “I was-” he stopped, brought his forearm up to his mouth, his fingers stained with blood, “I was too busy scolding him if he even thought to broach the subject. He barely sat still long enough to dress the wound properly.”

They heard the sound of the front doors bursting open, the clicking of boots upon the marble floor, and in a breath, the doctor emerged, clad in black overcoat and hat, Lord Townshend directly behind him. The doctor stopped upon entering the room, his expression surprised at seeing his patient being closely examined by someone else. Charlotte only moved closer to the wound, squinting in the dim light as she dabbed the cloth over the centre of it, removing as much blood as possible for a clearer view. 

“Ah,” the doctor said, discarding his hat and overcoat with such fluidity that one might assume Raynham Hall was his own house. “Witnesses to the injury, I hope? Any news on the cause?” 

Charlotte blinked, “It isn't a knife wound,” she declared, reaching for Linton, pulling him closer to her. “Our attempts to stem the bleeding, to apply pressure - we should not have-”

“It can’t be,” Linton murmured, his attention wholly fixed on what had just been exposed.

Charlotte lifted her head just enough to peer over Sidney’s torso, making eye contact with the doctor for the first time, “it’s… broken glass.”

\----------

Otis brought a finger to her lips, silencing her again as his eyes were drawn back to the candlelight that remained in Mr Campion's study. He dragged her further away from the house, even as she fought him in the silence. "What are you doing? Otis. We have to go back."

"We have to get away from this place, Georgiana," he stilled, looking nervously about them, then back to the window, "As far away as possible," he whispered.

" _No_ ," she gritted her teeth, "I will not leave Arthur behind."

"Don't you see?" he said frustratedly, his arms tightening around her, "For weeks, I have lived in this house. I have heard the secrets buried within its walls, Georgiana. She could have you kidnapped in moments and taken away to where you could never be found."

She glanced over him in the moonlight, her eyes travelling over his outdated attire. It was livery - she was sure of it. "If you think-" she shot back, her voice lowered as she set her jaw in defiance, "that the fear of being taken away would stop me for even a moment - you don't know me at all."

"I am asking you to think about this rationally."

"Why should I trust a man who has insisted this _entire time_ that he was enlisted in the Navy - on a ship in the bloody _Atlantic_ ," her voice had raised, and his eyes widened at the sound, "who now claims to have been living under the same roof as Mrs Campion? Why would I believe you for a second?"

He gripped her arm again, tighter, "Do you honestly think I could reveal that?" he whispered back harshly, stepping closer to her, "I couldn't say a word. To anyone."

"Silence is not the same as an outright _lie_. Could you not have trusted-"

" _I didn't lie_ ," he hurled the words back at her as he pulled her to him, "I never left the Royal Navy-" he paused, as if catching himself, deliberating, "I was appointed to a higher duty."

"What - spying on the Campions?" The thought was laughable, and yet she seethed over it - more intensely still as his expression turned to one of such resolute affirmation she could not deny her preposterous remark had a kernel of truth. 

His hand grasped her upper arm, and she fumed in annoyance, feeling every fraction of his touch. He moved in closer, his glance darting around them again. "I... have an acquaintance, all right? His estate is nearby. We must enlist the help of others if we are to go near that house again - do you understand?"

"Understand?" she scoffed, freeing his hold on her as she pushed him away, "Acquaintance or not, there is no _time_ , Otis. And I cannot risk the alternative. I _will_ not."

"Georgiana-"

"Go if you must,” she said, eyeing the western wing of the house, “I think it is time to make my presence known to the lady of the house.”

“Georgiana, you cannot,” Otis said, “Every moment, every _second_ you spend in proximity to this house, you are in danger of-"

“Then, so be it,” she said, coolly, “because if Arthur doesn’t make it out of there alive, I couldn’t live with myself.”

\----------

“Not a large piece, from the looks of it.” The doctor stood, forceps in hand - a triangular segment of glass at its tip. 

Linton examined the glass as if his life depended upon it. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, “I inspected the wound.”

Charlotte’s mind floated back to the fight at the inn, “it might have happened after, Linton. We don’t know what occurred after we left.” She thought back to Sidney leaping into the carriage, later applying pressure to a wound that was made worse for it, “it might have been a lot of things.”

“No matter,” said the doctor, “I will inspect for any other remnants and, if fortune is in our favour, stitch him up before he regains consciousness.”

"Regains consciousness..." Charlotte's vision blurred, "you mean he is to-"

"We are not clear of a less desirable outcome yet, Miss, but-" he released the piece of glass onto a tray, then moved in closer to inspect the wound, "assuming that we do not find further damage, well - he has a fighting chance."

“H-how long,” Charlotte started, and the doctor looked over at her, holding a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding.

“He will wake when he is ready... and not a moment before.”

She raised a shaking hand to her forehead and nodded silently in response. "Okay," she whispered, breathing in.

"Thank you," Linton said shakily, turning away from them into his sleeve for a brief moment before emerging again, reaching for more cloth from the fresh tray that had been delivered.

The doors to the drawing room burst open behind them with such force that the oak rebounded off the furniture, sending a chair toppling to the floor. Lord Townshend stood, overcoat still on, breathing heavily in the doorway, his expression wild. They turned, alarmed at the sight.

"Go on, then," Linton croaked, at last, his mouth slightly parted, "what has happened."

Townshend stepped into the room. "He's gone." 

"No, he isn't," the doctor said, looking confused, "At least, not yet. We have found the source of the injury, but we really must get back to-"

"No," Townshend waved him off, frustratedly, "not _him_ ," his eyes darted toward Sidney, "Though," he continued, "I suppose I am relieved to hear it."

"Then, _tell_ us, man," Linton said, his voice rising.

"Bridges," he slumped forward, resting his hands upon his knees as he tried unsuccessfully to catch his breath. "I've just chased him halfway across the formal garden."

"What?" Charlotte interjected. "But... he had a head injury."

"Someone _else_ was injured?" the doctor spouted.

"Apparently, it wasn't as severe as he led on," Townshend said, darkly. 

"But that would mean he must be-"

"En route to the neighbouring estate, perhaps?" Townshend fumed, "Yes, Miss Heywood, I believe that is _exactly_ where he is headed. The bloody, stinking _rat_."

"But..." Charlotte froze, the air expelling from her lungs in a single shaky breath, "Georgiana."


	51. Chapter 51

_“Charlotte,” he breathed her in again as she hovered before him - his heart skipping maniacally about his chest. Even as he relaxed his hold on her, she did not back away, but remained, her breaths upon his skin, her nose grazing his own as she lingered._

_He blinked, eyelashes fluttering as he dipped his head, the soft touch of her fingertips gliding over his cheek, the stubble at his jaw, and he exhaled, overwhelmed before he even knew as her hand cupped his chin, raising it back to her. Her thumb skated over his skin, following the line of his cheekbone as she wiped away the first tear, then the next. “I thought I’d lost you.”_

_She moved inward, her lips brushing over the path his tears had taken, every touch searing into him. He closed his eyes, his breath quickened at the contact, and his heartbeat followed, thrumming in his chest, heightening his senses, sending his mind into a haze._

_He looked down at her, his fingers drawn to the capped sleeve at her shoulder, shimmering silver and gold in the firelight, skating over the back of her arm, her skin reacting as he went, over elbow and forearm, circling over the tendons at her wrist, her pulse as alive as his own._ _“You haven’t,” she answered, at last._

_He watched her breathe, lips parted, the distant sounds from the ball fading to nothingness as he raised her hand, fingertips grazing the fabric of her dress, drifting upwards. Her breathing, fleeting and shallow, the only sound left as he brought her wrist to his lips - her pulse beneath him, now - more rapid than before, mirroring his own._

_And as he breathed, his gaze fixed upon the woman he loved, he felt as if his heart would never be silent again._

_\----------_

Charlotte looked down at Sidney, her fingertips travelling instinctively to his neck, her breath caught until she felt the beat of his pulse. “We must go to her,” she said, her fingertips lingering for one more sign of life.

“We?” Townshend asked, incredulous, “What do you mean, _we_?”

"Arthur may offer up a degree of protection for her, but he is no match for Bridges. They will need our help."

“Allow me to go,” Linton said, across from her, “in your stead, Miss Heywood.”

“I will not allow anyone to go,” Townshend interjected, “Please, allow me to fix this. It is my doing.”

“A dangerous plan, if I’ve ever heard one,” Charlotte scoffed. “Tell me, Lord Townshend, are you planning to take down an entire household on your own?”

Townshend looked back at her, an inscrutable expression crossing over his features, “Not entirely alone,” he murmured, and he turned back toward the marble hall.

Charlotte and Linton glanced at one another. He shook his head, silently pleading with her.

“Crawley!” Townshend called, off in the distance, his boots clicking upon the marble floor, “Crawley, I need you!” 

"Miss Heywood, you can't," Linton implored, "not now."

"If anything happened to her, Linton," she said, looking down at Sidney, "think... _think_ about what he would want, above all else."

"It's time," the doctor called, turning from his table of surgical instruments, a needle and forceps in hand. 

Linton and Charlotte each took a shoulder, pressing firmly as the doctor resumed his work, the first suture in place within seconds. She brushed her fingers absently against his neck. The pulse greeted her, still.

"He would want her safe," Linton said, at last, "even if it meant-"

"Her safety above his own. You know as well as I that he wouldn't have it any other way."

"But even still-" he glanced across at her, "it is too dangerous. He would not want you to risk being in harm's way, yourself."

"No," she agreed, "but he wouldn't want either of us to take such a risk."

"Crawley has called for the carriage," Townshend said, walking back into the room, "With Bridges on foot, it is still possible to reach them first." He faltered slightly at the sight that greeted him as the doctor extended his arm upwards, the needle glinting in the candlelight - and placed his hands briefly upon his hips as if to support his own weight, "Please know," he paused, "that I will do everything in my power to bring them back."

Charlotte's gaze was fixed on Linton, "I'm coming with you," she said, breaking away to look over at Townshend.

"You are not," he reproached.

"Yes, I am," she raised her head in defiance, her hands still pressed firmly upon Sidney's shoulder.

"But, surely this is no task for-"

"What, a lady?" she challenged, "Might I remind you that the _lady_ before you was the very person - the _only_ person - to fend off the man you just allowed to escape."

Townshend swallowed, looking uncomfortable as he eyed Sidney's still form upon the table, "Miss Heywood... I really don't think-"

“I don't care what you think," she said, fiercely, "If you presume I haven't considered the reality before me - that at any moment, I might reach for a pulse and find nothing in return - then I would advise you to stop trying to protect me from it. I realise _every_ ounce of risk involved," she said, tears welling in her eyes as she looked between Townshend and Linton, "Can't you see that there is nothing more I can do for him here. But this-” she gestured to the door, “ _this_ , I might do for him.”

“Miss Heywood-” Townshend started.

“What would you do, if you were in my position,” her voice rose, echoing in the expansive room, “tell me, honestly.”

He hesitated, looking down at his hands for a moment, "...I-" he swallowed, meeting her eyes, unable to look away until he blinked, averting his gaze again, "I cannot say that I would do any different,” he finished, quietly.

_\----------_

_Her fingertips brushed his arm, drawing shapes upon it as they sat before the fire, his shoulder pressed against a wingback chair, the only anchor left as he tried to formulate a coherent thought, a way of saying what he really should. That it was time to go back to the ballroom. That Lady Susan and Babington were likely about to release a search party they had been absent for so long. That it was time for them to part._

_“Yes, Mr Parker?” she asked, grinning as she shifted, sitting back - her dress like a silver cloud upon the floor. She reached for his arm again, pulling it into her lap. He felt her fingertips resume the patterns along his wrist, and he closed his eyes, distracted from what he was about to say, his thoughts turning to something far more appealing._

_He took in the sight before him. Charlotte dressed in her finery, legs crossed beneath her, the firelight that glowed through fallen locks of hair, casting a golden hue upon her face._

_Charlotte as he had never seen her before._

_“This is how I thought it might be, you know,” he said quietly, feeling a wave of comfort flood his senses before realising how unfamiliar a feeling it was._

_“What - you thought Lady Wessex’s ball would turn out this way, did you?” she glanced back at him, an eyebrow raised._

_He laughed, breaking into a grin, “Not in a million years could I have predicted the evening would take such a turn.”_

_“Tell me your meaning, then,” she smiled back at him, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “You can’t just leave it, now, Mr Parker.”_

_He stared back at her, lips parted. There was no woman alive like this._

_Her fingertips skated along the back of his hand, his palm, setting his nerves alight, the air he breathed somehow renewed with her scent upon it, and he could not get enough of it._

_He would never have enough._

_“Our life,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He traced its edge, mimicking her movements with his fingertips, following the firelight down to her jaw, the pulse at her neck - and again, he was greeted with a heartbeat as wild and erratic as his own._


	52. Chapter 52

Lord Townshend’s arms spread from one end of the table to the other, the plans unrolled before him, drooping over the edges as he dipped his head lower in the darkness, scanning the layout. "Shout at me if you must, Miss Heywood, but we cannot leave. Not until I find that _bloody_ passageway, at least,” he faded off irritably.

Charlotte eyed him defensively, having stopped abruptly at the entrance to Raynham Hall's library, the sight before her almost too much to take. Almost enough to prevent her from fuming over their previous exchange.

Every table and chair in the room before her was piled high with rolls of parchment or stacks of papers. Maps and diagrams lined the walls, books and ledgers lay haphazardly upon the floor next to the shelves where they might have belonged, and a large desk at the centre of the room was almost unrecognisable beneath the weight of documents upon it. 

"Is that-"

"It is," he answered, "precisely where we are headed."

“You have drawings of the Campion estate.” 

“Indeed,” he said, matter-of-factly, “several renditions.”

She looked around them, the maps pinned to the walls capturing her attention, her mind uncertain of their purpose and yet positive that it all meant something. “Lord Townshend," she said, "if there is something I must know before we depart-” 

“That, Miss Heywood, is a very long story. Too long, in fact, to even begin.”

She narrowed her eyes in his direction before stepping closer to a set of diagrams upon the wall, then moved on to the next, realising that they were all markedly similar. “Well, with what evidence I have before me, I think it likely you have an interest in ships,” she said, looking around at the walls, indicating them as she caught his attention. 

“Yes,” he said, looking back at the plans, his entire body rigid as it followed the course of his fingertip, moving gradually along a wing of the house, “something like that."

She glanced back at the drawings before her, moving closer to them, trying to make out the contents within each level of the ship, and when recognition dawned, she stepped back. 

"It is a shock to the system, is it not," he said under his breath.

"It..." she paused, "I hope it doesn't belong-"

"What, to _me?_ " he looked startled at the thought, "God, no. That is the Brookes ship," he said, "designed for the transport of what has thankfully become an illegal trade... and I assure you," he glanced back at her, his expression grave, "it is for research purposes only.” 

She stepped back to the wall, peering closer at the diagram. “This has something to do with Robert Campion. Doesn't it. It is why you travelled with him.” 

He eyed her across the room, “Perhaps it won’t be as long of an explanation as I anticipated,” he murmured.

She glanced over at him, her eyes drawn back to the wall again in seconds.

"Six hundred souls," he said, at last, "on a single ship. Six _hundred_ laid out like cargo, not an inch between them. There are some, still, who condone such ungodly acts. And there are others who strive to prevent such a thing from ever happening again." 

“And you count yourself among them,” she said.

"I am no more than a man who wishes to do what is right."

"I've heard of men like you."

“What - Lords who have egos larger than their country houses, you mean,” his eyes caught the firelight, his dark hair falling into them as he stepped back over to the table, checking the plans one last time, before standing to full height. 

“That's not what I meant," she said, curiosity brewing, despite all, "I’m beginning to think there is more to you than meets the eye, is all.”

He grabbed his hat from the stand, his overcoat already in place. “Yes, well," he said, placing the hat upon his head as he stepped to the doorway, "perhaps you're right, Miss Heywood. But I shall leave you in suspense. We haven’t much time before the carriage is ready,” he said quietly. 

"I'll only be a moment," she said, turning instinctively in the direction she had come from just moments ago, "There is something I must do before-"

"Of course," he finished, dipping his head briefly before glancing in the same direction, "I imagine you’d wish to-"

She swallowed, a nod the only response she could give.

\----------

Charlotte stood in the doorway to the drawing room, looking on as Linton watched Sidney with intensity, his arm extended as he checked for a pulse, still as a statue until he exhaled, his hand dropping away.

“Still steady?” she asked across the room, and he looked up.

“Yes," he breathed, "Steady enough, Miss Heywood.”

“The carriage-” she cut off suddenly as she approached.

“All ready to depart, then,” he continued.

She leaned over Sidney, her fingertips sliding to the familiar space behind his ear as her thumb skated across his cheek, her voice suddenly lost. She nodded instead, swallowing back the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Then... I shall hope for a swift return," Linton croaked.

She looked up at him as he sniffed, his eyes reddened, and the lump in her throat returned, persisting, as she blinked away tears of her own.

“I would not have made the decision to go if you were not here-” she cut off, clutching a hand to her waist, reminding herself to breathe. “I hope you know that.” 

He nodded, blinking rapidly as he lowered his head, "And I will do my part. Just as you will do yours." He tilted his head to the room's entrance, lifting his hand from Sidney's arm, stepping back from the table. "I will be just outside... when you are ready." 

She gave him a sad smile, "How is it that you know exactly what I need," she murmured.

"Years of practice, Miss Heywood," he said, pausing before turning back to her, "And in knowing exactly what he needs. I’ve found in my short time with you that they are often the same.”

He stepped away, the distant sound of the drawing room doors latching met her ears, and silence fell, ringing around her as she stroked Sidney's face again, taking him in as she moved closer. 

“I still wouldn't change my mind," she said, the air absent from her lungs as her vision blurred, "If this is the last memory I have of you-" she clutched at her waist again, "-then I shall be grateful for it." 

Her hand moved down his forearm, his wrist, her fingertips circling his open palm as she leaned in, her lips meeting the place she had felt for so many times before, and his pulse beat again. "We have had such a life," she said, hovering next to his ear, "even if we were only at the start."

She stood, her hand circling his palm one last time, lingering there before letting go, releasing him. "I will bring her back," she said, turning back toward the drawing room door, struggling for breath as the tears pooled in her eyes, masking what she would have otherwise seen as she stepped away - the sight of Sidney’s fingertips curving, twitching, before they paused again. 

\----------

_“When will I see you again-” he had asked the words before he had time to reconsider, to acknowledge the emotions coursing through him - something akin to fear._

_She shook her head, her expression similar to what his own must be, as forgotten complexities resurfaced in the room, landing there between them. “I... couldn’t say,” she said, at last, "not when so much is out of our control."_

_“Right…” he said, the ambiguity settling in him uneasily. He took her in, one last time, settling on the hope that they would have another such chance - a hope that had already begun to lose what lustre it had, "Well I... shouldn't keep you. They will be wondering where we both are, by now."_

_"Yes," she conceded, "I suppose you're right."_

_He nodded to the door behind them, "You should go first," he said, "_ _I will wait. Just for a moment.”_

_She was still for a time, her gaze fixed on him as he knotted his hands behind his back, gripping tighter until he felt the sting of fingernails biting into flesh. Perhaps that might wake him from this haze._

_She blinked, shaking her head as she stepped back, unlatching the door behind her, "Until next time, then."_

_He nodded, brow furrowed as he lowered his head, his eyes flicking upwards, not wanting to miss another glimpse of her._

_So he watched - watched as she disappeared into the abandoned corridor, the sounds of the ball returning to his ears, the door coming between them, obstructing his view of her, a rustle of skirts fading off into silence._

_He stood, waited as the inevitable emptiness came, invaded his senses, threatened to take away the euphoria that remained, and inhaled, blinking as his mind spun, making him wonder if she had been there at all._

_His heartbeat slowed, lungs aching as the breath hitched in his throat, his mind decided before he could convince himself otherwise, and yet he resisted, pacing about the room, the firelight dimming, dying out as he attempted to seize control. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, staring down at little more than ash in the grate - flames extinguished in a wisp of smoke, billowing upwards._

_The seconds stretched as restlessness grew, and he commanded himself to stay, gritting his teeth, tears welling as another flame disappeared before his eyes, gone forever as the truth surfaced, stark and unforgiving. He had watched her go again - watched as he knew, above all, that words had been left unsaid._

_How rare a chance it had been._ _And his chance had gone._

_Panic washed over him as he breathed, sinking deep within his chest, overtaking him where he stood, building within until he could do nothing else for it._

_Nothing else, but act._

_The acrid scent of smoke and ash never reached him as it spread throughout an empty room - for the only remaining sign of its occupant was an open door, still swinging lightly on its hinges._

_He spotted her in the distance through the shadows, only paces ahead as he gained on her, breaths coming short and fast, the sounds of the ball echoing down the corridor, increasing in volume._

_He didn’t have much time left._

_Moving more quickly than he should, his heart leapt to his throat as he broke into a run, the silver sheen of her dress guiding him as it caught the light, silk swaying with every step... until it didn't._

_She had paused in the centre of the corridor, turning back to him, a flush rising as she watched him approach, out of breath as he placed a hand at her side. Her skirts twined and twisted around his legs as they moved together, as he pressed her against the wall in the shadows. He could feel her heart beat through to his chest, every breath splintering as their lips met, inhaling as mouths parted with urgency, ardour taking hold with abandon._

_“I wasn't ready for it," he cut off, breaths coming faster, now, as he searched her eyes, "I couldn't let you go without-" His heart skittered as she closed the space between them again, her gloved hand behind his neck, pulling him closer as his fingertips skirted around her waist._

_He squeezed his eyes closed, the scent of her surrounding him, the softness of her neck beneath his fingers as he moved them upwards to cradle her face. "I love you, Charlotte," he breathed, his voice catching, threatening to disappear, "I will never stop loving you." His lips were upon hers again in the darkness, and she answered his declarations in the silence only they shared, her lips moving against his, filling his mind with will, with life._

_As he held her in their own corner of the world, a revelation dawned, expanding within him, taking over all else as he realised the simple truth in it: that perhaps, she needed him as much as he did her._

_"Charlotte-" he breathed fully, deeply, down to his soul, knowing with certainty that it was for her. It was all for her._

He inhaled her scent again, her heartbeat echoing in his chest, lifting him, still, beyond thought or presence or power - and Sidney Parker awoke to an unfamiliar room.


	53. Chapter 53

Candlelight danced over the bookcases in Mr Campion's study, casting an imposing shadow behind its source as she paced from one end of the room to the other, her face illuminated, eyes bright, aflame.

“Of course, I expected it of Miss Lambe. But I never thought _you_ would be capable of such betrayal. Am I-" she paused, taking a breath, "Am I not soon to be your own sister?”

Arthur did not respond, and instead remained transfixed by the shadows. They reminded him of the sun's reflection upon the sea, their movement constant - the motion soothing in spite of its restlessness. He had found himself inexplicably drawn to them until he couldn't look away. In truth, he didn't want to look away - looking away would bring him back to the situation at hand - back to her. 

She lowered her raised chin a fraction, her voice swimming back to him, cutting through the waves inside his head. “Now, I am left to wonder how I might ever trust you again.”

He blinked.

Her words did not cut, after all. They slashed and gutted, sending pain signals through his body as he looked down to his feet. His brow furrowed of its own accord, his mind resolute in its opposition - and yet, he could not prevent himself.

“T-trust me?” he repeated, breaking his stare, his eyes finding hers at last. A shiver ran down his spine, fury building rapidly, mingling with the fear coursing through him as he gritted his teeth, "you wonder how you might ever trust-"

“There is only one explanation for it, of course," she continued, as if unaware, "She is a pretty sort of girl, I admit. Your Miss Lambe. And yet-”

Arthur swallowed, heart pounding as she began to pace the room again. The shawl that draped over her arms threatened to fall to the floor as she walked about distractedly, finally shaking her head as if in defeat.

“Even still, I cannot wrap my head around it,” she said, stepping closer to his place upon the floor - the place where he had fallen, “-why, or _how_ , you found yourselves under the heel of Otis Molyneux.”

\----------

“Georgiana. _Wait_.”

The sound of panting emerged from the darkness behind her, boots thudding as they rebounded off the frozen ground, and in a flash, Otis gripped her arm, his face appearing at her shoulder as she stopped in her path.

“What don't you understand?” she spouted, her voice louder than intended, "I have made up my mind. So please, just _stop_." She winced at the unexpected show of emotion. 

He tightened his grasp on her, "It's bloody suicide, Georgiana. You must know that," he puffed out bursts of air like smoke in the night, the only warmth left between them.

"I don't care if it is bloody suicide," she cried, wrenching her arm free, "I will not leave without him."

He caught her again, pulling her closer, her forearm held tightly against his chest, locked in its place, “Why have you come? _Why_ \- of all nights - would you have chosen-" He cut off, his teeth bared in frustration, "We had a _plan_ , Georgiana. It was all arranged, and now-”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, louder, exasperated.

He searched her eyes, looking perplexed, astonished as she stared resolutely back, her fingers tightening into a fist. 

“ _Evidence_ , _"_ she said, watching as his eyes travelled back to the house - to the now distant study window - and back to the ledger tucked beneath his arm. 

\----------

“O-Otis Molyneux?” 

“Yes. It was he I intended to-” she paused, fading off as her eyes narrowed. “He and that incorrigible Miss Lambe. Imagine the shock I felt upon finding out that the footman we all knew as James had no history in service, but had instead been sent to spy on me. I’ve no doubt that trollop, Lady Worcester, was behind it all,” she stilled, the candlelight passing over her like flames, “I know what she is attempting to do. But that she would go to such lengths -”

“Mrs Campion-”

“I saw them, you know,” she said abruptly, spewing the words out like venom, “Sidney with- with _her_ \- disappearing through the King’s Entrance at Covent Garden. And after I threatened him that I would bring her to ruin," the candle shook, wax spilling over, dripping down, "What else might I have done to keep him away from her? If that wasn’t enough... what might I have done?”

Arthur shifted, his hands scraping upon the wood beneath them as he clenched his teeth, inhaling as he tried to grasp onto what courage he had left. “I-I don’t believe that there was anything you might have done to produce a different outcome,” he said quietly, his heart pounding, reverberating through his ears. 

Her expression altered as she absorbed his words - eyes piercing as they met his from above. “Why would you say such a thing-” she said, her voice higher in pitch, evolved into something more sinister.

He swallowed reflexively, and found that he could not look away. “Can you not see... that you are standing in the way of his happiness?”

“He will learn to be content,” she said, "I did the very same, once."

“ _No_ ,” he said with conviction, his chin trembling with the effort, and the rest of his body followed, “If you care for him... _truly_... why do you insist upon tearing him away from the life that would give him the happiness he deserves - the life he went without for-”

“Because he belongs to _me_ ,” she shouted, turning to him violently, “and always has.”

Arthur gazed back into a face riddled with fury, sensing the wave of panic floating through the room, the sense of loss trailing behind it, lingering about them - and it was as if the fear had been transferred across the room, his own trembling subsided. “Forgive me, Mrs Campion,” he said, breathing in, “but I believe you lost him long ago.”

“You know _nothing_ of how we were."

“And yet, you see him as s-something to be possessed,” he said, courage rising within him as he moved further back, anger fueling him, “-as if he were an object for your collection. How am I even surprised, knowing what I-”

He paused, breath catching in his throat, having little doubt left that his expression would give him away, even more than his words. 

Silence fell between them, the room still, as if the world had frozen in place. Until movement caught the very corner of his eye. Light upon the wall, quivering. His eyes followed it to its source, down to the candle that flickered in her shaking hand.

“Knowing what, Arthur?” she asked, her voice chillingly calm as the shadows moved like unknown figures there to haunt them both.

He shuffled back, feeling the leg of a chair jab into his shoulder as he attempted to sit up, his leg a dead weight in front of him. A growl sounded from the shadows, and he heard something resembling a whimper come out before he could prevent it. 

“Knowing what?” she asked again, stepping toward him as she tilted her head. 

“I will reveal _nothing_ to you,” he said through clenched teeth.

She smiled, eyebrows raised, shaking her head a fraction, “And for the briefest of moments, I thought I might set you free...” she said, hovering over him, "Rather optimistic on my part, wasn't it."

His eyes flitted between the woman before him and the growing shadow behind her, "and what incentive might I have left to reveal any information if you are not to set me free-" 

He felt the pain jolt upwards from his calf, his mind burning as a silk slipper stepped upon his leg, pressing down into the bite marks, the torn flesh that still bled. He let out a cry, deep and guttural, as the weight of her foot increased - until he could no longer focus on anything but the source of the pain. “Mrs Higgins,” she called, her eyes fixed upon him, still, “Call the footmen. Have them escort Mr Parker to the fountain court.”

“The f-fountain court, Ma’am?” she asked from the doorway.

“Yes,” Eliza smiled, eyes gleaming, “And send the rest to search the grounds. I've no doubt that Miss Lambe may be in the company of our former footman." 

\----------

“You're collecting evidence against the Campions,” he murmured again, as if to get used to the idea.

“Mrs Campion has forced someone close to me into a marriage he does not want," she replied, stepping away from him again, determined to resume her path, "I merely thought I would do my part to make sure it never takes place.”

“With Mr Parker. Yes. Yes, I know of it.” Otis’s eyes shone briefly as light emanated from a window near them, “And you found something.”

“Possibly enough to have her locked away, were she not the wealthiest widow in the country,” she sneered.

He lifted the ledger up to the light, paging through it briefly before snapping it shut. “You- found _this_ in Campion's study,” he gazed at her, shaking his head before glancing about them, "We must hide it."

“ _No_ ," she said, reaching an arm out, her ankle giving way again.

“Georgiana, we must," he said, stepping further out of reach, "If you knew how long I have searched for information like this-”

“Investigating her for illegal trade, are you?”

He stilled. “How did you-”

“Oh, _please_. I am not a simpleton," she said, limping toward him, "Look...if there were another way, I would have arrived at the same conclusion as you have, but... I fear it may be the only bargaining tool we have left.”

“Georgiana-”

“Are you really about to tell me otherwise-”

But he had frozen, eyes widening as he brought a finger to his mouth, shaking his head sharply in warning. There was a charge in the air, enough to make the hairs on her arms stand, her mind more alert - as she heard the sounds of men in the distance.

\----------

The bloodstain was still expanding upon Arthur’s stocking - a shock of crimson blooming over white silk, torn and muddied. He stared at it, briefly amused at the merry bubbling of the fountain in front of him. Georgiana would have made it to the carriage, by now. Surely, she must have. 

The hem of a skirt emerged in his field of vision, two slippered feet poking out beneath layers of satin and gauze - white silk stained carmine.

The slipper nudged at him again until he flipped over onto his back, his wrists rubbing painfully against the rope that bound them. “Now, Arthur,” said the voice above him, “have you decided to cooperate?”

His chin trembled as he opened his mouth to speak, a weakened moan the only sound that emerged as he panted, subconsciously preparing for what was to come. 

“I take that as a no, then,” said Eliza, stepping away from him. "Again," she called, off in the distance. 

Two sets of hands dragged him up by the shoulders, his hands scraping over stone as they lifted him over the fountain once more, senses heightened as his mind reeled. 

“And?” he heard her ask from afar, “did you find anything on the main road?”

“Nothing more than an empty carriage, Ma’am,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“Then they will not be far, I think.”

“And you wish for us to use-“

“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently, “do whatever you must to bring them in.”

And in a breath, Arthur was held underwater.

\----------

Otis signalled to her, pulling her by the arm as she limped, her feet moving faster upon the ground, every other step sending her reeling in pain as they went away from the house, darkness enveloping them both again. 

"Quickly, now," Otis said through his teeth, "We won't have much time before-" distant howls sounded in the night, growing closer, and he whipped around, seeking the direction of the sound, his feet planted upon the ground, looking as if one further step might reveal their whereabouts. 

" _Run_."

In an instant, she felt his arm beneath hers, supporting her, dragging her through the rough terrain, "Otis-" she took in a sharp breath as her ankle gave out yet again.

She felt the weight of the ledger pass into her arms, held it to her body as he lifted her off the ground. "It is the only way," he said, his expression almost apologetic as they moved through the darkness, his movements suggesting that he had travelled the terrain before, that he knew it well.

“Familiar with this route, are you?”

“You might say that,” he answered in her ear. 

Her heartrate quickened at the sound nearing, every thud of Otis's boots a threat to exposure, the distorted outlines of an outbuilding suddenly looming before them, blocking out the moonlight as they approached.

Stables, perhaps, or the remnants of what might have been. 

He placed her back on her feet, hopping over the gate, locking it behind her - and led her through a crumbling entrance, the moonlight finding its way through holes in a tattered roof that had all but caved in.

"This way," he said, guiding her briefly before going on ahead, his steps light and familiar as he travelled a path he seemed to know.

"Otis, I can't-" she said as she tripped over fallen stones and debris, reaching out for something to help support her.

But Otis had stopped, his arms stretched above him along the far wall, as if reaching for an object that had been hidden. 

"What is this place?" she whispered.

He reached higher, his heels coming off the ground as he stretched a shaking hand out, feeling his way along the wall as voices grew nearer. They were not far off.

"Otis-"

He turned back to her, lifting a finger to his mouth, a flash of metal in his hand.

He pulled out a loose stone near his waist as she stepped toward him, and watched as the key went into a hidden lock behind it. He pushed against the wall with his shoulder, his feet slipping across the floor, and with one last look at the entrance, she joined him there, adding her own weight next to him.

The wall broke free, the sounds of falling stones greeted them both as he pulled the key from the lock, and in a moment, they were on the other side, the wall closing behind them, locking into place.

He fell back against it, catching his breath next to her. 

"Is this what I think it is," she whispered, the sound echoing about them in the darkness, and she felt his hand close around her forearm. The weight of it silenced her as she heard the voices, nearer now, the skittering of stones kicked aside.

"Careful, now," said a deep voice on the other side, "it isn't stable."

"Wha'?" replied another, "but the dogs-"

"If they're hiding away in here," said the other, "they'll be flattened before long. The roof... it won't hold."

The sound of more stones skittering across the floor emerged. "What do you mean, it won't-" 

"I mean, it's about to bloody collapse," he shouted back, sounding further away now. 

They felt the wall shift as stones fell on the other side, heard the crack of splintered wood followed by a crash.

"Christ," said the other voice, stones skittering as he moved, "you all right?" he called.

The footsteps receded, kicking aside debris as they progressed to the far side of the outbuilding.

Then... nothing. 

They stood, for what felt like minutes, resting against the door, breaths slowing gradually in the dark as they heard distant drips that echoed back to them, and no more.

Otis loosened his grip on her forearm, the slight warmth from his hand lingering until the cold crept back, taking over again.

"Do you know those men?" she finally asked.

"Unfortunately, I do," said Otis, "fellow servants of the house."

"She must know we are out here," said Georgiana.

"Yes," he murmured, "I've no doubt she does, by now. But we will be safe enough here," he whispered, the flare of a match lighting the space, "It's an old passageway. I had to clear a section of it, but it has held up despite the state of the outbuilding."

"A passageway," she murmured.

"Constructed so that one might never have to step outside," he said, reaching for a lantern hanging upon the wall next to him. "I have since learned of its intended use."

“What-” she breathed, blinking at the sudden brightness as the lantern caught the flame. He glanced at the ledger she still held, then looked back at her. “Transport…” she said, at last, "this pathway leads to the house."

“Impressive. I should have known you would need little help from me,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders to support her as they proceeded down a set of stone steps, the air growing colder as they descended.

“You were there. Weren’t you," she said suddenly, looking over at him, "In the study. It was you there before Arthur and I arrived."

He smiled, staring down at the lantern, “From what I have learned, Campion was a secretive man. Unwilling to give up his trade, determined to find a way to continue despite it being unlawful - all in the name of maintaining his status. He and Mrs C were a better match than one might think at first glance - fixated on their social standing - with little regard for those they considered beneath them in society.”

"So, he continued on."

"And became obsessed with keeping it hidden. Building passageways such as this, and as I suspected, places to hide any proof of unlawful acts." He smiled, and shook his head, amused, "I had been searching for a ledger like that for weeks, and you came along and found it in a matter of minutes."

"The plan you spoke of - it involved finding evidence as well."

"I thought it would be wise to seek an alternative in case I did not-" He swallowed, looking away from her.

"Did not what-" she murmured. 

"- in case I did not survive the night."


	54. Chapter 54

Drops of rain had begun spattering the roof above them, the force nearly drowning out the sound of Lord Townshend’s cane as it scraped over the carriage floor in rhythmic circles. He turned his head, sighing restlessly as he looked out over the fields, barely visible in the moonlight, his hand gripping the cane’s handle in frustration. “Surely-” he faded off as if the words had died on his tongue. He looked to the opposite side of the carriage, “Surely, she must have given you… _some_ information.”

Charlotte looked back, exasperated, “If you speak of Lady Susan, Lord Townshend, I assure you she spoke not a word of... this.”

The cane stopped circling. “Right...” he said, any additional words caught in his throat as he swallowed them back. 

She shook her head, wanting little more than to shake the answers out of him. “Will you not take it upon yourself to inform me,” she said quickly, greeted with silence once again. 

“I-” he started, his expression pained, “Forgive me, Miss Heywood, but I do not know what I am authorised to reveal - not to you."

\----------

“Where is she,” Sidney croaked, his eyes searching the ceiling above him - Linton’s wary expression the only within view. His body reeled in response, heartrate quickening as he attempted to rise, fear overtaking the pain in his side. But he was promptly flattened back against the table he still lay upon. He gritted his teeth and raised a trembling hand, catching the sleeve of Linton’s coat, “For God’s _sake_ , Linton.”

“She is just as stubborn as you are, you know,” he said, at last, tears pricking at his eyes, “Unyielding and headstrong. Willing to dig in her heels until we consented.”

“Consented to what.” He gripped Linton’s sleeve tighter, “ _Consented_ to _what_ ,” he said, more forcefully this time, his teeth bared as he enunciated every syllable.

Linton looked sternly back at him, “To allow her to finish what _you_ started," he detached Sidney's hand, stepping away before he could catch his sleeve again. "She is _gone_ , Master Parker. Lord Townshend as well. Off to the Campion estate.”

“Lord - Lord Townshend?” he was breathing faster, now. The pain shot up his side, pierced through him as it rose straight to his head. 

A heavy hand pressed down upon his shoulder. “ _Stop_ ,” Linton said, “Just _stop_. Your reacting will only make it worse.”

“How would you expect me to react, having awoken to this?”

“With a degree of _trust_ , for a start,” Linton said, irritably, "They will return momentarily with Miss Lambe and your brother, don't you worry about it."

“They-" he had started breathing heavily.

” _Calm_ yourself, now," said Linton, “Townshend will protect her in your stead if he must.”

“How did bloody Townshend come into the picture, anyway.”

Linton gripped his shoulder tighter. “Have I neglected to mention that he saved our _lives?_ Perhaps if you had taken even a moment to ask instead of fighting me at every turn, I might have explained it all to you by now," he scolded, his expression fierce, "But, I imagine even the fact that he had a hand in saving your own life is not enough to convince you that he is honourable.”

Sidney glared down at his bandages, “Stepping in where I could not. Isn’t that just bloody brilliant...”

“It _was_ bloody brilliant of him, yes.” 

“ _Enough_. I do not wish to hear more of it,” he glowered.

"Yes, I might have predicted," Linton said, moving into action, "There will be some minutes yet to wait for their return, Master Parker, and I admit to you awakening far earlier than any of us expected. Shall we find a more suitable place for you to rest?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at a footman off in the distance, but Sidney caught his sleeve again.

"I'm not finished," he said, turning his head as a stillness fell upon the room, "Not until I know what happened to the others."

Linton could not meet his gaze.

“ _Answer_ me," he said through gritted teeth, pulling Linton closer, narrowing his eyes with suspicion until Linton swallowed nervously - nowhere left to look but back at him - his weary eyes drooping as the silence pressed in on them. 

“Campion... did not survive the encounter at the carriage. Lord Townshend made sure of that.”

“And what of Bridges?”

Linton paused over him. “He… ran off from this very house.”

“Ran where?”

Sidney lifted his head off the table, gripping until his hand shook from the effort.

"I... have no wish to say."

“ _Linton_. Ran _where_.”

“... We cannot be certain... we only know the general direction in which he travelled,” he spoke almost inaudibly.

Sidney was in motion before Linton could react, rolling away from his bandaged side, his feet catching the ground roughly as he supported himself. 

“Get back to that table, at once,” Linton shouted, his words echoing from the walls.

“You think Campion was the danger, do you,” he said, darkly, “You don’t know what that man is _capable_ of," he moved to dart toward the door, and Linton blocked his path.

“Whatever he may or may not be capable of, Bridges is travelling _on foot_. It will take an age for him to navigate through the countryside - and with a head injury, at that.”

Sidney met his gaze, surprised.

“Oh, you heard correctly. Your other half managed that one on her own. And let that be the proof you so clearly need that she is more than able to protect herself," he lifted his hands cautiously, his voice lowered, "Now, you must find a way to _rest_ , Master Parker. You will be no good to anyone in your state.”

“You expect me to be capable of rest when...when-" he let out something akin to a growl, balling his hands into fists as the blood rose visibly up his chest in a flush that crept ever onwards, flooding his face with colour for the first time since they had left the inn. "We must end this, Linton. _Now_. All of it.”

\----------

“Would it not be in your best interest - for both our sakes-” her fingertips curled, nails biting into the seat on either side, “There is no way I might even _try_ to assist your efforts if I have no idea what they are.”

He sighed audibly, the air huffing out of him as his cane began to circle the floor again, the sound grating at her nerves, “From the little I know of you, Miss Heywood, I imagine you are clever enough to piece together much of it on your own.”

“And yet, you said it yourself,” she retorted, “we haven’t the _time_ , Lord Townshend.”

“I don’t think you realise what sort of position you’re placing me-”

“And you do not realise what position you are placing _me_.” She had reached out a gloved hand and placed it upon his, bringing the cane to a halt upon the floor. "Do you honestly wish me to enter that house _blind_? With no knowledge of the potential dangers that await us there or what might befall either of us... Well? _Do_ you?"

He searched her eyes, the rest of his body remaining still as the cane in front of him.

“Have you not considered that you would not wish to hear the truth? That, perhaps..." he closed his eyes briefly, meeting hers again, "perhaps _not_ knowing may be the very best thing for you.”

She glared back at him, raising her chin, "You might allow me to be the judge of that."

He shook his head, a smile of disbelief crossing his features, “And yet, you persist,” he murmured.

“Whatever it is, Lord Townshend-”

"Do you think I wanted to bring you? _You_ \- of all people..." he sniffed, "and yet you convinced me of it. I should have known you would have me backed into a corner by the time we exited the drive to Raynham Hall."

"The answer is simple enough," she all but shouted at him, "Tell me of your involvement in this - whatever _this_ even is - and I will stop."

“But that is the most perplexing part of all, Miss Heywood-,” his eyes met hers, remained there as he bit his lower lip, as if to stop himself. "That you have been left in the dark to such a degree that you don't even know the root of it," he said, an expression of incredulity crossing his features. "Have you not wondered why we are all here in the first place? Why I travelled across half of England with _such_ men in my company - _killed_ one of them outright to save your lives? Has it honestly never crossed your _mind_ -"

"Say it," she whispered, the answer dawning before the words came out of him, hanging in the air before them. Perhaps she knew it all along. Refused to look at it in such a way that would result in blaming herself. 

He swallowed reflexively, looked down at their hands, focused on them as he exhaled, then glanced back at her, “that this has all been orchestrated for you.”

\----------

“And where do you think you’re going?” Linton eyed him disapprovingly as he slid an arm into his overcoat, taking in a sudden breath at the pain that shot through his side.

“I might catch them up if I-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he stepped toward him, his expression fierce, “If the suggestion even graces your lips, Master Parker, I will think you an even greater fool.”

He rolled his eyes, “You’ve practically _bundled_ me in bandages. A bloody knife couldn’t pierce through this,” he gestured impatiently at the bulk beneath his shirt.

“Yes, well,” he muttered, “let us hope we don’t have to test _that_ theory again. You will wait for the carriage to be readied like any man who has sustained such a degree of injuries should - and furthermore, you’ll thank me for even allowing it.”

Sidney glared back at him, huffing out a breath as he attempted to reach for the other sleeve of his overcoat.

“I've only just agreed to this and you have me regretting it almost immediately,” Linton muttered under his breath, then louder, “What are you doing? You can’t even don your bloody coat on your own.”

“And do you honestly think I have plans to remove it as soon as I arrive at the Campions? Perhaps stay for tea while I'm at it?" He cocked his head, challenging, "What more might I say to assure you that the journey will be swift - that we are running out of _time_ to-”

“If any danger should befall her, Lord Townshend will handle the situation, and adeptly.”

“And you think such an idea might be a comfort to me? To know that Lord Townshend even allowed it in the first place is enough to-”

“I am not trying to _comfort_ you,” he spat out, “You have done _far_ too much to my nerves to deserve such treatment," he stepped closer to Sidney, hands balled into fists "I am trying to make you see _sense_. The world will not fall if you are not involved in this - nor will it if you must wait half an hour for a safer mode of _transport_.”

They stood still, fuming as the fire crackled along the far wall. And just as Sidney opened his mouth, eyes marked with fury and guilt at once, a far less familiar sound echoed throughout the marble hall. It traversed through the house, bouncing from ceilings, absorbing into the silk wall coverings, settling. The sharp, clipped sound of metal upon metal resumed again - more urgent this time. _Tap. Tap. TapTapTapTap._ They looked out across the marble hall to its source - for the sound had come straight from the main entrance to Raynham Hall. 

\----------

Lord Townshend smiled bitterly, removing his hand from beneath hers. “We never predicted such an outcome - that it would come to this," his smile broadened as his face became more drawn, almost pained. "Your Lady Susan is quite the woman, Miss Heywood. With connections that only princes and kings might be privy to.”

“Lady Susan had a hand in this.”

“Most certainly, yes - indirect, as it was. I was recruited by a close connection of the Prince Regent. His solicitor, Charles Bicknell. My… efforts to abolish the slave trade are known in certain circles, though not all. In that respect, I suppose I was the only sensible choice," He looked back at her, then closed his eyes briefly, exhaling, defeated, "Had I known then what lay ahead, I might have been more reluctant to assist."

"What is it-" she said, dread increasing as she awaited his response.

I have a man,” he continued, looking down at his hands, “stationed at the house.”

She looked over at him, "And this man is at risk-"

“A great deal, yes," he swallowed, his expression almost stricken as he paused, "He was... recruited from the Royal Navy, also at your Lady Susan’s request, and is likely a gentleman with whom you are acquainted. A Mr Otis Molyneux."

“ _Otis?_ Otis Molyneux is working for you.”

“For the _Campions_ , to be precise. As a footman... called James Hubert. But, whenever possible, he visited Raynham. To pass along information.”

“But… he and Georgiana-”

“Yes," he answered quietly, "I suspect she may be one of the primary reasons why he took the post. He seemed very eager to prove his worthiness. Perhaps even,” he eyed her again, "to make amends for past indiscretions." 

She remained still, the information hitting her too quickly to absorb. 

"And," he added, "I must admit that he has been paid handsomely for his efforts - enough to repay a most generous acquaintance."

She thought back to her encounter with Otis Molyneux in London, so long ago and yet, his words remained in her mind. _I have been shown a kindness I do not deserve._

Lord Townshend dipped his chin in the slightest possible affirmation as she looked up. “As for Miss Lambe," he started, "I assure you that is a piece of the plan that developed much differently from how we had hoped. Miss Lambe was meant to stay in Sanditon, tasked with keeping an eye on the eldest Mr Parker. She was eager to contribute, but as I understand it, she was unhappy with the arrangement as it stood. I believe she took it upon herself to track down information, and enlisted the help of Arthur Parker along the way.”

“Do you think she knew? About Otis?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised, knowing what I do of her, that she is a brave enough sort to take on Mrs Campion alone... particularly if it might mean the happiness of two people very dear to her.”

“And... what of tonight? The men you travelled with were not your usual company, clearly.”

His gaze flicked away from her, “We were never supposed to encounter you or Mr Parker. It was all arranged. I would lead them to the estate - to catch them in the act.”

“Of?”

He swallowed, “Kidnapping.”

“Mr Molyneux,” he continued, looking slightly paler than before, “was found out some days ago - discovered searching Mr Campion's study by the housekeeper, Mrs Higgins. When he fled to Raynham Hall, he took refuge there and proposed an alternate plan-" Townshend blinked, inhaling quickly, "-so that we might yet succeed. I fear the information he gathered, while not enough to provide sufficient proof, was enough to alarm both of us greatly, indeed. He offered to put his own life at risk so that we might expose the Campions. I was to reveal his whereabouts - convince Eliza and Robert both that he had been hiding on their own property, that I had caught sight of him myself. Otis had heard of a close acquaintance - a man called Bridges who he believed Eliza would hire - to take him away.” His eyes began to well over as he gripped the cane's handle more tightly, looking away from her, "And when I might have persuaded him against it, I was foolish enough to go along with his idea - so great was my desire to catch her and Robert both at what I had suspected of them for so long. And now, I am to blame for its outcome. It was my doing - my agreement that set it in motion."

“Did you not discuss what you might do if the plan did not succeed - surely, you must have-”

"It doesn't matter - not anymore," he said, exasperated, bringing his cane down upon the floor with force. Once, then again, in quick succession. "Even if Bicknell were to send the bloody Royal Navy, it doesn't change the fact that-"

“Bridges is on the way,” she finished, feeling the pull of the carriage as it began to slow.

"That I have _failed_ , Miss Heywood," he said sharply, "in more ways than one. And if that were not bad enough, I have been bested by the very woman I sought to defeat."

He had inched toward the carriage door, “You must understand - I could not allow the consequences of my own failures to befall another person. If anything were to happen to you... Miss Heywood, I-” he stopped, his eyes large and apologetic as he looked across at her, “I must send you back.”

"Townshend," she said quickly, catching his arm.

He turned back to her, " _Please_ , allow me to remedy this without risking your life as well."

His hand was at the door before she registered precisely what his intent was. It flew open, wind and rain blowing as the carriage slowed, the burst of air knocking them backwards as she wrenched his arm, her only thought to prevent him from going forward, from disappearing into the night.

He fell into her as the carriage moved beneath them, righting itself as she pushed him back to his place across from her.

"Explain yourself," she said, out of breath as she slammed the door shut. 

He looked back, his hat no longer upon his head, hair wet against his face, and she was met with an expression of frustration and incredulity at what had just occurred. He began to laugh bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Don't you see?" he said, "You... _insist_ upon knowing our plan when there is no explanation I could possibly offer you. There is no plan _left_ , Miss Heywood. It has been... _reduced_ to chaos and nothing more."

The carriage lurched again, and Charlotte's eyes lingered on him, her attention captured so wholly that she found she could not respond. A shadow had been cast, moving over him until his body was submerged in darkness - and she found she could no longer read the expression upon his face.

\----------

“I must speak to Townshend at once,” came the gruff voice at the door. The footman remained quite frozen in place as the wispy cloud of white hair appeared around him - the man not even tall enough to reach the footman’s shoulders. And yet his presence filled the grandeur of the marble hall with a single step into the room.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Sidney called before he could revise his wording.

“I might ask the same question,” said the man, clearly affronted, “did Lady Susan not send you and your intended on to Gretna Green?”

“How do you-” Sidney stared impatiently over at the man - who was, in fact, the man he had only met on one occasion - back on that dreary day in Chancery Lane. “Mr Bicknell,” he quelled his urge to shout, “what has brought you from London in the middle of the night.”

He stared rather guiltily down at his hat, and Sidney’s heartbeat began to skip about his chest. “Now that is a gripping story I would be eager to tell, were circumstances not as they are. Quite honestly, we don’t have the time for stories. Tell me that Townshend is here. That he has returned from-”

“He is not,” Sidney said, sensing Linton’s presence behind him. “He is with Charlotte.”

“With… with Miss Heywood?”

“Yes. They are on the way to Hemlock Hall, presently.”

The hat fell to the ground. 

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long ago did they depart?”

“Not half an hour ago,” Linton replied as Bicknell paced, his boots clicking upon the chequered floor of the marble hall.

He puffed air out of his lungs, brought a hand to rest upon his head, moving it back and forth until his hair stood even more on end, then turned to them, gesturing wildly, bellowing out the words, “The lady of the house has _returned_ to Norfolk. Is in _residence_ at the house as we speak.”

“Mrs _-_ Mrs _Campion_ is in Norfolk.”

“Yes, man! And prepared to do as much damage as humanly _possible_. The ladies - they were not to be directly involved, and yet... Mr Parker, the men Mrs Campion has employed have the power to make more than one soul disappear this night, never to return. Do you understand my meaning-” he said, scooping his hat from the floor. But Sidney Parker had already left the room, running into the night, bound not for the carriage, but for the very first horse he set eyes upon. 

\----------

Clouds stirred overhead, dimming the wash of moonlight upon the country lane as the rain pelted down. The horse galloped beneath him, breath coming out as steam, his hands gripping mane and reins, holding on as the freezing rain grew in intensity. He must find her. He must reach her. He must… He must… He must…


	55. Chapter 55

The carriage sped along the country lane, clouds circling above it as the wind whistled on either side of them: white noise to accompany a sudden charge in the air.

It was enough to make Charlotte hold still, frozen in her seat as she picked up on the cadence of Lord Townshend's breathing - which now emerged in bursts, short and panicked, across from her as he sat in the shadows. 

A sliver of moonlight had appeared on one side of his face, gradually moving across it, revealing the steely gaze that did not waver from a place over her shoulder. And she heard it behind her, then: a weight shifting at the back of the carriage, motion where there hadn't been just moments ago. 

She closed her eyes, attempting to quell the panic as she entertained the possibilities in her mind. There was only one thought that lingered; one possibility she could fathom.

“Lord Townshend-”

He raised a hand, a quick gesture, and she paused - her suspicions confirmed. That something had just occurred. Something to alarm him. 

That someone had made his presence known. 

In a flash, Townshend reached for her, pulling her low to the floor. 

“Bridges,” he muttered under his breath, watching the shadow move again, tracking it with his eyes, “I’m certain of it.”

Charlotte shifted toward the door and he caught her arm, pulling her back. “Stay exactly where you are,” he commanded through his teeth.

She glared at him, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “What, and do nothing?”

“I shouldn’t have allowed you in the carriage.”

“Well, you did,” she called back as she crawled to the far corner, “and unless we act quickly-”

“It was reckless,” he said, and she heard the fear in his voice, more prominent than before, “You insisted upon coming and I knew-" he cut off, glancing over at her with something resembling guilt in his eyes, and it caused her to freeze again. “I knew the risk,” he finished, almost whispering the words. 

The stillness pressed in on them as the shadow returned, moving over Townshend’s face - any silent conveyance in his eyes swept away.

She started, another jolt of panic coursing through her, unavoidable as it took hold, then reached for Townshend’s cane at her knees.

“If he is here for me,” she said as she hooked the cane beneath the door handle, angling it across the seam, attempting to find some way of locking it into place, “I will not go willingly.” 

Townshend traced the carriage interior with his eyes.

“I trust he will have to bide his time until we stop,” he whispered, at last, “There is no way he could reach the door from his position - not without getting tied up in the spokes.”

They were met with a stream of moonlight, hitting them as if it were the sun.

The carriage box quivered, and Townshend’s gaze moved upwards.

“He... _can't_ be-” Townshend cut off, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

He was answered by a _thump_ , the carriage swaying as the weight shifted above them. Then another.

And they saw it. The curve of a hand as it hooked over the edge, fingertips gripping the window, splayed as they held on, shifting steadily along the glass - steadily toward the front of the carriage.

“No,” Townshend sucked in a breath and bolted backwards, pounding his fist on the window, “Driver!” 

\----------

Raindrops shimmered as they pooled, frozen drops collecting, forming something larger and more dangerous as the horse dashed along the country lane.

Sidney pressed the horse onwards, gripping tighter with his knees, closing the distance until he could feel the warmth emanating from the horse. The urgency of their situation had hit him again like a slap in the face. Eliza was here, in Norfolk. And Charlotte was headed in her direction. _The men Mrs Campion has employed have the power to make more than one soul disappear this night, never to return._

He had no idea what Eliza was capable of, but knowing that Bridges was near gave him some hint of what she was up to, and it made his heart begin to pound again. There was only one explanation where he was involved. And the feeling of dread returned as he lowered himself closer to the horse - as another second, another minute lapsed. 

He had reached a knoll. The lane sloped upwards in the darkness, the hill’s crest blocking his view of what lay ahead as the horse galloped through the frozen pool at its base, droplets sloshing as hooves met the incline. He urged the horse onwards again, faster. And once again, his thoughts turned back to her.

_Charlotte in the firelight, hair tumbling down. Silver skirts catching the light, his heart in his throat as he chased after her. Desperate for a look, even a breath of her._

A feeling that returned to him, now. Perhaps it would never cease. 

The horse tensed beneath him, muscles seized through shoulder and withers, making his heart stop as he came to.

The sheet of ice was visible even in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight as if it were a pool of water, vast as it stretched before them. He pulled back, speaking in low tones, attempting to soothe even as the sense of dread unfurled itself, spreading throughout his body - transforming into a spike of fear that made him yank the reins before he could stop himself.

The horse stepped backwards in clipped strides, throwing its head back as hooves tramped over the frozen ground, horseshoes no longer able to withstand the ice. The horse dropped, skidding backwards over the crest of the hill, and Sidney Parker held on for life. 

\----------

Townshend lifted the seat behind them with shaking hands, hunched over it until he emerged, a pistol in hand, lead bullets scattering about the floor as he proceeded to load it. The carriage swerved off to the side, hitting rougher ground as it went, and he was sent backwards, landing roughly against the seat opposite.

Charlotte exhaled, looking down to find the pistol cradled in her skirts, relieved and furious in moments. “Is this really our only option?” she reprimanded, "Could you at least _try_ not to kill every man who poses a threat?"

He paused, glaring back at her, “My sincerest apologies. I was merely _trying_ to save our lives.”

The carriage rocked again, tilting so severely that she slid into Townshend. “If you hadn’t noticed, it isn’t our lives that need saving at present,” she said, the driver’s shouts coming back to them again, “and I will not have you endanger a coachman’s life as well. Don’t you have something else we could use? Something with weight to it.”

“If you knew what that man has done without a hint of remorse, I doubt you would be so forgiving-”

“That _man_ attacked me, himself,” she shot back, “and did I not insist upon sparing his life after the fact?”

“And now look where we have landed. Can you not see that circumstances have changed?” he said through gritted teeth, reaching for the pistol before she could do anything to stop it, “No, Miss Heywood, I will not risk endangering your life any more than I already have. I will _not_.”

“Lord Townshend-”

“Miss Heywood, please! If Bridges gains control of this carriage, we will have no say in what happens to either of us.”

He stood, making his way to the door.

“There is something else,” she said, not quite able to put her finger on it. “Something you are not telling me.”

He had flicked open the lock on the side window, releasing it from its latch, sliding it down as far as it would go, and paused, looking back at her, a sense of urgency in the air. “If the carriage should stop, find a way out. _Run_ \- do you understand? As fast as you can. Put as much distance between you and Bridges as possible.”

“What are you-”

“He will take you away, Charlotte,” he said, his brow furrowing, “just as he would Otis or Miss Lambe.”

“He is but one man,” she said, “and have I not proven that I am quite capable of defending myself?”

The curve of his mouth came up, forming some semblance of a smile, “I daresay you have. But he is not the sort of man one would wish to encounter again.”

He swallowed, the fear returning to his eyes as his body tensed.

“It is her greatest desire - to see you gone,” he whispered the words - his gaze lingering for just a moment, “and she would pay handsomely for it.”

As Charlotte reached for him, he leaned out into the night. 

\----------

Sidney had stopped breathing, his torso as tense as the horse beneath him as it slid - skidding to a halt before stepping agitatedly, throwing its head back, rearing up beneath him. 

The world flashed white.

He could no longer recall commands - no longer speak - hands locked in place as he held on, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting to be thrown again.

The horse's spine curved as a hand threatened to slip free of the reins. And the flash returned. 

An arc of light in the distance. A far-off glow moving rapidly, violently. 

Steam came out in huffs, the fresh ache in his side intensifying, piercing, as he zeroed in on the single golden arc of light.

A lantern swinging.

A carriage travelling away from him.

It was as if all the air had left his body. She was there, he knew, just as she had been on the clifftops.

Within reach.

He drew in a breath as the pain took hold, pulling the reins with one hand as the other fell away, heart in his throat as the arc of light flashed again, bouncing haphazardly as if the carriage had run off the lane entirely.

He exhaled sharply at the impact. Front hooves crushed newly formed ice, tramping over the frozen ground with abandon.

And he lost sight of it, his head spinning, desperate to keep up as panic flooded his senses, waiting for the blankness to return, perhaps forever this time.

Another flash, off in the distance.

She was there. Just there. Within reach. 

\----------

Townshend's head flicked back sharply, his shoulders catching the edge of the open window.

"Lord Townshend," the voice of Bridges followed, "trying to save your own life, after all."

Charlotte saw Townshend's head raise up. A line of blood dripped down from his cheek as the coachman's lantern illuminated his face, then disappeared.

"Stop the carriage," he growled, the pistol gleaming as he raised it.

"Or what? You'll shoot me and startle the horses? Commit bloody suicide and murder the innocent Miss Heywood?" He laughed, coarse and guttural, "Oh, I think not."

Charlotte braced herself against the seat.

" _S_ _top_ the bloody carriage," he said, the pistol cocked.

"The driver has received his instruction," said Bridges, "He will not stop until he is commanded to do so by me."

He lifted the pistol higher.

"You know why I am here," said Bridges, his voice lowering, "She knows too much."

"Leave her be," he croaked.

"Don't tell me you've grown fond of her, Townshend," he said, sounding amused, "Mrs Campion would not see kindly to that."

Townshend hesitated. "She knows nothing," he said in little more than a whisper.

"Protecting her even now," said Bridges, "And yet you are as transparent as they come. You have shared information with her, Townshend. But not everything, I imagine. Oh, no," he chuckled, "not everything. What would she think of you then?"

A shot fired, and the shadows shifted as the carriage swayed dangerously, picking up speed as the horses dashed, out of control. 

The crack of metal sounded from above as the pistol came down repeatedly upon the carriage box. A dull thud as metal met flesh, Townshend's body flush with the window as he reached.

Charlotte slammed back against the seat again as the carriage swerved, the coachman helpless in his place as the horses ran on.

The weight had shifted again. 

"You think I don't know what you seek?" Bridges called, his tone suddenly transformed into something more dangerous.

Townshend stilled, the silence deafening as Charlotte tried to make sense of it. 

"Thought you were being discreet, didn't you. Searching every last corner of the carriage while you had the chance, rifling through Campion's coat pockets like a beggar off the street."

"Where is it," Townshend growled through gritted teeth, his body rising out of the carriage window. She heard a scuffle of boots above them and Townshend was sent backwards again, grunting in pain as his torso bent away from the carriage into the night. 

He righted himself, and reached above him, pulling Bridges to the edge of the carriage box as he lifted the pistol to his neck. 

"Hand over the girl, Townshend," Bridges croaked, "And I will ignore this treachery and spare your life."

" _Tell me... where it is,_ " he said through his teeth, his eyes wild with fury.

"You heard my terms."

Townshend spat in his face. "Tell me or I swear to _God_ I will finish you."

He was met with another laugh. "You must have taken me for a fool."

Townshend pulled at his collar until he wheezed.

"A wasted shot..." he croaked, "...And only a single barrel."

A hand shot out in the darkness, closing round Townshend's neck, bending him back over the road.

"I will have the girl."

Townshend choked, his grip faltering as he began to slide further out of the window, his coat sodden in the rain and Charlotte moved to brace his legs, wondering if this man might break his spine in two.

"And I would have killed you, regardless."

Townshend was released - his head lolling back in defeat as the pistol came down upon it, striking his skull with such momentum that it might have fallen from the sky. 

"No," Charlotte pulled at him with all the force she could wield, his coat catching on the window's edge as she pulled, wrenching until he broke free. He slid down to the floor next to her, his body slumped against the door. 

She shook him, a lump forming quickly on his forehead as his body began to tremble, shuddering briefly beneath her grasp.

"Townshend," she gritted her teeth, shaking him again as his body went limp.

She heard the weight shift above her again, Bridges on the move, his shadow appearing at the front of the carriage, the din outside increasing as fear threatened to take hold. She tripped over Townshend as she crawled over to the seat, searching through the lone box that remained, gunpowder its only contents. 

Her heart thudded in her chest, the pressure in her lungs building as she realised the only weapon she had left was currently hooked around the handle of the carriage door, locking it into place.

She glanced over at Townshend's cane. The window remained ajar, the countryside washed in grey from the moonlight as it moved by in a blur. 

She dropped the box. 

_Was it possible?_

He had instructed her to run. Had tried to leap from the carriage, himself, only moments ago, dangerous as it seemed.

She looked back at Townshend - breathing softly, now, at her feet - and pulled the cane free of the door.

Her hand hovered above the door handle and she watched the countryside flash by, her fingertips meeting the cold metal, the wind and rain finding its way into her eyes, stinging her skin through the open window as she looked down at the lane, the fields beyond it, wondering how far she could leap, how painful the landing might be, the likelihood of getting caught beneath the wheels. 

And yet, it seemed her greatest chance at surviving this.

"Stop the carriage!" The voice carried, distorted in the wind and rain- as if it had been shouted half a mile away.

Her arm caught the seat as the carriage lurched again. Townshend slid along the floor, his legs buckling against the far side of the carriage, knees hitting the wall, and her eyes followed the sound.

A horse had appeared alongside them, moving at a full gallop, outrunning them with what seemed an impossible speed.

The carriage shifted again, the muffled sounds of shouting followed as she was thrown backwards, her head hitting the seat behind her as the carriage swayed. 

It might have been seconds. Perhaps minutes had passed before two hands came into focus, curved over the window, holding on in the rain.

Something heavy bashed against them - louder than carriage wheels and hooves, louder than the pouring rain.

She was thrust forward again and the moonlit countryside came into focus - no longer a blur as the carriage halted in the middle of the road, the coachman’s lantern still swinging.

Charlotte looked out, nothing but shadows visible in the night, and her heart began to pound. 

\----------

There was a stillness amongst the din, the night restless as rain pelted down, pinging against the carriage, rebounding from the lane below them as Charlotte remained out of sight, ducking low to the floor, her ears filled with the sound of her own breath as she waited. It was as if the world had gone quiet, the sense of urgency abated, the rain tamping down any remnants of danger - a blanket of calm as the clouds roiled above them.

Boots hit the ground, heavy on the frozen earth, echoing in her ears as they tracked the sound - and she followed it, shifting to the window, rising hesitantly.

The lantern sputtered and hissed as the damp threatened the flames within, casting shadows in every direction - one moving independently from the others, steadily away into the darkness. It crouched low to the ground, rolling over the unconscious form at the edge of the lane, a hand checking for signs of life.

She clutched the edge of the open window, fingertips gripping as if it were the last hint of reality she had left. A hand reaching for a pulse - the motion so familiar it might have been hers.

The shadow stood. 

Light caught the planes of his face, highlighting cheekbone and jaw, the sharp angle of his nose. It caught his chest as it swelled, every breath rising above him, hovering like smoke before dissipating. Washed away as his gaze landed upon her. 

Even from a distance, she felt it; as intimate and recognisable as a touch. And her heart went still.

Anticipation formed, lingering as seconds stretched between them, and a part of her didn’t want him to stop - wanted this moment to go on, to cling to it. To experience this feeling as if for the first time rather than risk disappointment, the alternative ever-present: that it was all in her mind.

He stepped towards her hesitantly, the cadence of his breath so familiar there was no mistaking it, and she braced her other hand against the door, supporting herself until she could find a way to breathe - could find it in herself to stand. 

He moved into the light, eyes visible as the shadows vanished from his face, fixed upon her still with an intensity she had prepared herself to never see again. 

And yet, here he was, continuing on his path - moving faster, now - boots upon the ground, every step illuminating his presence even more than the last.

"Charlotte-" 

Her name carried, slicing through the wind and rain, stirring within her chest as her heart thrummed back to life. Her pulse raced in her ears as the door clicked open, her mind paces behind as cold seeped into her shoes, numbness taking over as she reached for him.

Her hands trembled as they took their familiar path, skating over bandages, up to the pulse at his neck - her heart beating faster with every breath of him. And she found that he was doing the very same, his breathing panicked as his hands moved over her, checking for signs of injury. 

“Charlotte-” his voice faltered as he cut off suddenly, breathing in, lips parted. She felt the brush of his thumb over her cheek, his fingers laced through her hair as he searched her eyes, moving closer, still - close enough to feel his breath upon her cheek, to see the brightness in his eyes. 

Rain blended with tears as she broke. He clung to her, tighter, drawing her in until she could feel the warmth of his body, wool brushing against her skin, heartbeats skittering as his fingertips found the nape of her neck - traced along her spine as they curved. And he whispered her name again, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself. 


End file.
